


The Night of the Missing Cattle Affair

by LadyRa



Series: The Wild Wild West Affair [1]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E., Wild Wild West (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-02
Updated: 2013-07-02
Packaged: 2017-12-16 20:41:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 41,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/866383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRa/pseuds/LadyRa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>THRUSH is poaching cattle.  But where are they taking them?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Night of the Missing Cattle Affair

**Author's Note:**

> I am not an expert on the 1870s so please forgive any anachronistic moments.

When Illya saw what he was about to pour into the hydrochloric acid, he realized he had no business being in the lab. He replaced both beakers on the counter and pushed away, wishing there was some place he could go where his thoughts wouldn't torment him.

But there was no such place. He should have kept his damn mouth shut. Illya wished he could turn back the clock and make the conversation he'd had with his partner never happen. 

He had gone through the best and worst-case scenarios as to what might happen if he told Napoleon of his feelings for him. But now Illya knew that he hadn't really been prepared for the worst-case. He hadn't been prepared for Napoleon's look of dismay, nor how he'd backed away from Illya as if he were diseased.

And he certainly hadn't been prepared for Napoleon telling him, as he stormed out of Illya's apartment, that he would be putting in for a new partner. 

All morning he'd been waiting for the summons. Waiting to get called to Waverly's office and told that Napoleon had requested a new partner. Illya had no idea what he'd say to the man. That was assuming that Napoleon had done him the courtesy of not telling Waverly the reason why. He might. He'd been angry enough last night to do it. If that was the case, the summons might include a one-way ticket back to Russia. And the Gulag. 

He should have kept his damn mouth shut. Illya dropped his face into his hands. He had thought the pain of not having Napoleon as his lover had been bad. But the thought of not having him in his life at all was excruciating. His future, no matter what part of the world he ended up in, looked as bleak as a Siberian winter. 

If Napoleon didn't inform Waverly of the facts and he came up with an excuse that mollified the old man, Illya supposed he might see Napoleon from time to time as they passed in the halls, or in debriefings, but that would be worse than never seeing him. Especially if Napoleon treated him with the same disinterested courtesy with which he treated all those for whom he had little respect.

He should have kept his damn mouth shut.

* * *

Artie wasn't sure what woke him up. Maybe the scurrying of a small critter sneaking through their camp, or the hoot of an owl, but it snapped him completely awake and he opened his eyes. What he saw made him smile.

Jim was still fast asleep. It was good to see him so relaxed. They'd been on a couple of rough assignments lately, and they both needed this vacation. Jim slept near him, as he always did when they were camping, bedrolls snugged up against each other so they could talk softly as they bedded down for the night.

They'd talked late into the night. Artie couldn't recall all they talked about, but he could remember how it made him feel, listening to Jim, hearing his laugh, watching the wariness leave his eyes. Knowing he was perhaps the only one that Jim would let down his guard for made Artie feel proud. 

He'd never had a friend like Jim, and he'd never loved anyone the way he loved his friend. It threatened to consume him at times. It left him both wanting to ride away from Jim as fast as his horse could gallop, and left him helpless to do anything but stay, wishing for something he'd never have.

Artie lay there and ran his eyes over Jim's face. He was so beautiful. Perfect. He took Artie's breath away. And lying there on his side, facing Artie, his hair in disarray, inviting touch, his eyelashes creating an attractive contrast to his rich complexion, his lips barely parted, it all blended together in such a way as to create a work of art, and it made Artie's heart clench.

He inched a bit closer, until he could feel Jim's exhalation softly blowing on his face. It would be so easy to lean closer, to graze Jim's lips, to finally find out what Jim's mouth tasted like, to experience for himself the softness of his skin and the hardness of his body. 

His love had grown over their time together, and so had his need. Now, it almost overwhelmed him. Despite his efforts, a low groan escaped him. Jim stirred and Artie held his breath. He watched as his friend and partner muttered something under his breath and then reached out until he came in contact with Artie's arm. Then, a small smile crossing his face, he settled down.

It warmed Artie's heart that Jim liked knowing he was near, near enough to touch. The hand now resting against his forearm was also setting his blood on fire. He tried to be reasonable. He tried to remain cautious, but he was so tired of fighting it. Surely, his heart reasoned, Jim would welcome his touch. Surely, his body pleaded, this was something Jim wanted too or why would he walk around half-naked half the time, or touch Artie so easily? 

Artie succumbed to the temptation. He gave up struggling against the pull of gravity and allowed himself to be drawn down, until he pressed his lips against Jim's. And the second he did, sanity reared its ugly head, and he knew it was a mistake. But now that he'd felt the softness of Jim's mouth, he couldn't stop. He touched the seam of Jim's lips with his tongue, asking for entrance. Instead of the acquiescence he had irrationally hoped for, he felt Jim's body tighten, and jerk away.

Even while Artie's heart was pounding in his chest, with desire coiling in his gut, Artie pulled away, opening his eyes, feigning confusion, and lied through his teeth, hoping Jim would buy it. "Sorry, James, my boy. I was dreaming about some buxom blonde who wanted to have her way with me." He rolled on to his back and yawned, pretending that nothing earth-shattering had just happened, that he hadn't miscalculated and made such a serious error in judgment.

He let out a silent sigh of relief when Jim laughed and pounded him on the arm with his fist. "You need glasses if you think I look like a buxom blonde. Maybe I'd be safer sleeping on the other side of the fire."

Artie forced out a laugh, hiding the pain the subterfuge cost him. "I promise your virtue is safe with me." He sat up, feeling a need to get away, at least for a while. "I think I hear the call of nature."

Jim rolled onto his side, away from his partner. "Don't fall in the river."

Artie forced out another laugh, stood and walked away from the camp. It was an effort not to run and then to keep on running. It was an effort to stop thinking of that kiss, what he wished it had turned into. 

* * *

Napoleon paced in his office. He'd overreacted. He knew that. What he didn't know was how to apologize. All night he'd tossed and turned, trying to find the right words. How do you let someone know that you didn't really think they were lower than pond scum, that it had just been the result of momentary insanity? Not that he'd actually said that to Illya, but he was sure Illya felt that he had.

The look in Illya's eyes when he'd told him he wanted a new partner still haunted Napoleon. How could he have said that? How could he have meant that, even for an instant? 

Napoleon couldn't imagine his life without Illya in it. This revelation didn't have to change anything. Well, it changed a few things, but nothing that they couldn't work out. Nothing that made the only solution ripping out half of his heart.

It bothered Napoleon that he had reacted that way. Now that he'd had a chance to calm down, he was trying to figure out what had made him so angry. It wasn't that Illya was homosexual. It also wasn't that his partner had sexual feelings for him, and apparently had for some time.

Napoleon shook his head in confusion. All he knew was that when Illya told him how he felt, his response had been a bitterly cold anger, and it had made him lash out at his partner, and then propelled him out of the apartment before it turned into something even more hostile.

And now, because of it, maybe he'd ruined a friendship and a partnership that meant more to him than anything.

Napoleon blew out a breath and squared his shoulders. Pacing wasn't going to solve anything. He knew Illya was in the lab, he'd checked on his partner's whereabouts as soon as he'd arrived this morning. Feeling as if he were about to face a firing squad, he left his office and headed down the hall.

Once he got to Illya's lab, he hesitated outside the door. Chastising himself for his cowardice, he rapped sharply on the door. There was no answer. A quicksilver thread of panic slithered down Napoleon's back. Suppose Illya had chosen to resign, suppose Illya had gone to Waverly already and told him he needed a new partner, suppose Illya…aggravated with himself and his mental dithering, Napoleon pushed open the door.

Illya was sitting on his chair, his face in his hands. He looked up when the door open.

Napoleon winced at the shadowed look in his partner's eyes, as if Illya fully expected Napoleon to start yelling at him. He didn't waste any time. "Illya, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. I don't want a new partner."

A guarded look of hope crept into Illya's eyes. "You don't?"

Napoleon shook his head. "No, I don't. I don't even know why I said those things. I had no right."

Illya gave him a rueful smile. "Yes, you did. I told you something that made you uncomfortable. Something that will probably continue to make you uncomfortable. I shouldn't have said it."

"It doesn't matter, Illya. I thought I was a better friend than that. I'm embarrassed that I wasn't. I'm embarrassed that I went off like that. You didn't deserve it."

A long pause ensued. Then, hesitant, Illya said, "So, you really don't want a new partner? You don't…you don't mind? It doesn't bother you?"

Napoleon shook his head. "Why would I want a new one when I already have the best? And I'm all right with what you said. I don't…I don't feel the same way about you. Can you be all right with that?"

A look of sorrow crossed Illya's face, and again, Napoleon fought off an urge to step closer, to be nearer. But then Illya nodded. "I'm still sorry I said anything. And while I appreciate your words, I am not sure that things can be as they were."

"Sure they can. You're my partner. And my friend." Napoleon smiled at the Russian, relieved that Illya seemed willing to forgive his harsh words. The haunted look wasn't quite gone from his partner's face, but it would be. It would all work out. It had to. The alternative was not acceptable. 

* * *

When Artie got back to the campsite, Jim had moved his bedroll to the other side of the fire. Artie's lips tightened and, further depressed, he sat on his own bedroll. Thinking Jim was asleep, he was startled when his partner spoke. 

"I thought I'd give you some room in case you decided to grapple a little more with your dream partner."

Artie forced out a laugh. "Good idea, Jim. Methinks it's been a little too long since I've had some female companionship."

Jim snorted. "Good night, Artie."

"Good night, Jim."

Artie made all the appropriate noises as if he were settling down, but he knew it would be a while before sleep claimed him. He couldn't remember the last time Jim had slept this far away from him. After their first year together, they'd always bunked close to each other, chatting as the sky grew dark, falling asleep shoulder-to-shoulder. 

He knew Jim was only a few feet away, but it felt like miles. And that meant that this whole thing was going to be a game of pretend. Jim was going to pretend he believed Artie. Artie was going to pretend he believed that Jim believed him, and it would never get mentioned again. But now, Jim would be sleeping on the other side of the fire.

Maybe Jim would forget this faster if Artie were on his best behavior, if he made sure not to touch Jim at all and not stare too much. Not that Jim ever seemed to mind the touching or the staring. Maybe after some time went by, Jim would set his bedroll up next to Artie, and they'd go back to the way things had been until an hour ago.

Artie's back felt cold where Jim usually lay. He turned until his back was to the fire, and stared out into the darkness.

* * *

Both men's communicators went off. In unison, they reached for the slender cylinders and uncapped them, speaking their names.

Waverly's voice came out in stereo. "Ah, Mr. Solo, and Mr. Kuryakin. I need to see you in my office immediately. Something's come up that requires your immediate attention.

Both men gave their assurance of an imminent arrival and then shoulder-to-shoulder, they headed up to their boss's office. Once there, Waverly handed them both duplicate files.

Napoleon looked at the file in front of him. "Cattle rustling?"

Illya was flipping through pages. "It appears that they've taken thousands of animals, and all from herds in Texas."

"That's correct, gentlemen." Waverly tapped his pipe into his ashtray and gave it a stern look as if it had been misbehaving somehow. "There's never been such a rash of cattle thefts."

Napoleon scrunched his face up. He wished Illya would look at him; normally they'd be exchanging looks by now, looks that conveyed exactly what they felt about the case, which in Napoleon's estimation was that it was ridiculous. "Why exactly, is U.N.C.L.E. taking an interest in this? Poaching isn't usually our territory." He wasn't exactly thrilled at the thought of putting his new Italian loafers at risk of stepping in cow patties. 

Waverly pushed a toggle switch that lowered the projection screen. A picture of a steer appeared on the screen. "Apparently, the thieves in question are branding the cattle before taking off with them. This one was left behind accidentally."

Illya and Napoleon peered at the picture. On the steer's left haunch was a brand. A small bird. A very familiar small bird. Napoleon flashed Waverly an incredulous look. "Thrush? Thrush is stealing cattle? Why are they stealing cattle?"

Waverly turned off the projector and raised the screen. "That's exactly what you gentlemen will be finding out. I have arranged tickets for a mid-afternoon flight to Texas."

Napoleon grimaced. He was going to find the time to go home first and put on an older pair of shoes. "Where exactly in Texas are we going?"

Illya answered, having flipped to that particular page. "To the Double S Ranch, near Austin. It's the last ranch that was hit."

"Quite right, Mr. Kuryakin. All the details you need are in the file." Waverly began to tamp some new tobacco into his pipe. Then he looked up and frowned at his agents as if annoyed to find them still sitting there. "That will be all, gentlemen."

Both men rose quickly, and Napoleon, again, tried to catch Illya's eye. He sighed when his partner failed to look at him. As they headed down the hall, Napoleon grabbed Illya's arm to halt his rapid progression. "Illya."

Illya stopped, and after a pause, looked up at Napoleon. "I need to go home and pack."

Napoleon nodded. "I know; I do too. I just want to make sure that we're all right." Napoleon suddenly realized he was still hanging onto Illya, and that maybe he shouldn't be. He quickly let go and took a step back.

Illya looked down at his arm, and then at where his partner now stood, and let out a quiet, sad half-laugh. "It doesn't matter." He glanced at his watch. "The flight leaves in two hours. It doesn't give us much time." He turned and headed for the exit.

Napoleon stood there for a few seconds, processing. Then he got annoyed. He bounded after Illya and grabbed his arm again, looking first to make sure no one was around to overhear. "Do I not get any time to get used to this? I don't think I like how sure you are that we can't get past this, that somehow we're doomed."

"Napoleon, you don't even want to touch me."

Napoleon rolled his eyes. "That's not true. I just--look, there's more going on here than your sexual orientation. You also told me that you have feelings for me. I don't want to make things harder for you. I don't know what touching is okay or what isn't. It's got nothing to do with not wanting to touch you."

Illya gave Napoleon a wry smile. "I've managed to survive up to this point, I do not believe I will suffer egregious harm if you continue to touch me as you always have"

Napoleon gave his arm a squeeze and grinned at him, finally dropping his hand. "There, you see? We just need to talk about it, and it will be fine."

Illya gave him a serious look. "I hope you're right."

Napoleon frowned at him. "I know I'm right. I think you're the one with the problem here."

An angry look flashed through Illya's eyes and was just as quickly gone.

Napoleon realized it had probably been a fairly unkind thing to say. After all, his stoic partner had somehow found the courage to risk telling him that he was in love with him, and been summarily rejected, cruelly rejected. Napoleon sighed. "Sorry. That was stupid." He gave his partner a pointed look. "But we will work it out. I'm not losing you as a partner or as a friend over this. If you want this ended, you're going to have to be the one who walks away." 

Illya studied Napoleon for a moment, and then nodded. "May I go home and pack now?"

Napoleon rolled his eyes. He supposed that was the best he could hope for right now. "I'll drive you. Come on."

* * *

Jim woke up first, but then he usually did when they were camping. He opened his eyes expecting to see Artie, but he wasn't there. Not even his bedroll was there. Momentarily confused, Jim sat up. And then he remembered. He reached up and touched his lips. Artie had kissed him. Really kissed him.

Jim rubbed his hands over his face, and then through his hair, combing it into some semblance of order. He glanced over at his partner, saw that he was almost completely covered by his blanket, only the top of his head available for viewing. 

Artie had kissed him. And then he'd lied. Artie was a good liar, best Jim had ever known, but Jim knew him too well. And he'd definitely been lying. In fact, everything that came out of his mouth after that kiss had been a lie.

Jim wasn't sure what it all meant. Did it mean that his partner was an invert? Was it just that he'd woken up extra randy and Jim had been available? It had been a while, for both of them. The calico girls in that whorehouse over in Waco had been a little too used for Jim's taste. 

It was the kiss that had thrown him. The touch of Artie's tongue. The kiss of a lover. Artie had kissed him. And Jim would bet a nugget of gold that with a little encouragement Artie would have kept kissing him.

And that meant Artie either was an invert, or at least felt that way about Jim. Which was why Jim had moved his bedroll across the fire from his partner. He loved Artie, sure, but not that way.

He got up and began to stoke the fire, wanting to heat some water for coffee. His thoughts gave him too much company, most of it confusing. He had seen Artie with women, hell, he'd shared women with Artie. If there was anyone who seemed to truly appreciate the female form, it was his partner. And they seemed to appreciate him just fine, too.

Jim didn't want to think about it anymore. It was over, and he wasn't about to let it get between him and Artie. Maybe the two of them could head back to Dallas, and Artie could find himself that buxom blonde he'd lied about, and this whole affair could just end up being an amusing anecdote, soon forgotten. The sooner the better.

But the burning in his gut didn't agree. Jim wasn't sure that anything would ever be the same.

* * *

Hours later, Napoleon and Illya stood in the middle of a huge field, so huge all Napoleon could see was the one fence they had crawled through to reach the spot where the Thrush-branded cow had been found. He suspected that it used to be full of cows. Now there were none. The one remaining cow, the branded one that had somehow been left behind, had probably been brought up to the main house to stay in the guest bedroom. 

The foreman of the ranch was despondently kicking at some scrub. "Ours was the fifth ranch to get hit up round here. All of us just woke up in the morning to find that half our herds were gone, like they just turned plumb invisible. No one saw nothing. To take that many head of cattle you'd need a caravan of trucks a mile long. And nobody saw nothing." He kicked hard enough at the scrub to unearth it. It tumbled helplessly with the next breath of wind.

Illya was slowly going over the ground, looking for anything that might resemble a clue. 

Napoleon was spending his time looking for cow crap. He looked over and saw that Illya was crouched down looking at a bush. Napoleon rolled his eyes and sauntered over to him. "Waiting for it to catch fire and send you some divine inspiration?"

Illya gave him a look. "I left my stone tablets back in New York." He pointed at the bush. "Look."

Napoleon scouted the ground for dung and then crouched next to Illya. "What am I looking at?"

Illya reached out and bent the bush to the right as if a breeze had blown it to the side. 

Napoleon could see it then. The top right side of the bush had been completely sheared off. Perfectly. As if some mad barber wielding a razor-sharp machete had decided the bush needed a little off the top. Napoleon frowned. "Very interesting, but what exactly does it have to do with our missing cows?"

Illya shrugged. 

Napoleon had seen that shrug before. It meant Illya was on the hunt. Napoleon left him to it and walked back over to the foreman. "What happens now to the ranches?"

The foreman scowled. "I expect the owners will buy more cattle. They got insurance for stuff like this, but they don't wanna buy until they know the new herds won't up and vanish."

Napoleon nodded and glanced at Illya. He was crawling on his hands and knees. Napoleon experienced a moment of gratitude that he wasn't the one on his knees, as he would no doubt have a close encounter with something unpleasant a cow left behind. He turned his attention back to the foreman. "Where's the closest ranch with cattle left to steal?"

The man pointed due west. "The Whispering Pines Ranch is forty miles west of here."

Napoleon raised his eyebrows and suppressed a shiver at the thought of the miles that separated neighbors out here. Give him the city anytime with neighbors upstairs and down. He glanced at Illya again and bit back a laugh. He was lying on the ground now, his nose almost in the dirt. Napoleon raised his finger in the air at the foreman indicating that he'd be right back and walked over to his partner. "Lying down on the job? I might have to report you."

Illya snorted. "Look at this, Napoleon."

Napoleon sighed and crouched down again. "What am I looking at?"

Illya pointed at some blades of grass.

Napoleon let out an exasperated sigh and with one hand on Illya's shoulder for balance, leaned over and tried to see what Illya was so captivated by. His brow furrowed. The blades of grass were sheared off too. 

They were all sheared off at different heights though. But then Illya ran his hand lightly over them, simulating the breeze again that must have been blowing when the damage occurred, and Napoleon could see the pattern. "What is it? What did that?"

Illya shook his head. "Nothing natural."

A shiver crept down Napoleon's spine, surprising him. "Great, another unnatural Thrush invention. Just what I wanted." He stood and held out a hand to Illya.

Illya took it, and Napoleon pulled him up. Illya pushed him back a couple of feet. "Stand there."

Napoleon looked down at his feet, sure that Illya would find it amusing to walk him right into some crap. Relieved that his shoes were still unscathed, he returned his attention to his partner. Illya was tracing something in the dirt with a stick. 

The foreman came over to watch. "What's he doing?"

Napoleon shook his head. "I haven't the foggiest idea. Frustrated artist, maybe?" He took a guess. "It's all sheared?"

Illya nodded and then stood to the side, dropping the stick. 

Napoleon stepped into the perfect square Illya had drawn and slowly circled. Every plant that lined the edges of the square had been sheared off. Definitely not natural.

* * *

Artie woke up yawning, and he stretched under his blanket. He could smell coffee and smiled at the thought that Jim must have already gotten up and taken on chow duty. Then the events of the past night forced themselves into his memory.

Artie held back a groan and wished he could fall back asleep. But he knew it was fruitless; it wasn't as if he could stay in his bedroll until he grew old and died. He sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, and then, preparing himself for anything, he looked around for Jim.

Jim was sitting on the large log they'd set up by the fireplace, a tin cup of coffee in his hand. "I was beginning to think you were going to sleep all day." He got up and moved to the fire. "Want some coffee?"

Artie nodded. "Thank you, James. Don't mind if I do." He watched Jim carefully as he fixed him a cup of coffee, looking for signs of wariness, of the distance he was sure to find. He found it all too fast. Jim handed him his cup and then returned to the log.

Yesterday, Jim had handed him his cup, and then sat down next to him on his bedroll, and the two of them had watched the day begin together. Artie wasn't sure he could stand this. He needed to talk about it, needed to assure Jim that he could control himself, that it would never happen again. 

He mostly needed to rewind the clock and make it never have happened at all. As much as he physically wanted Jim, Artie wanted his friendship more. The thought of walking around on eggshells around Jim was excruciating. One of the best things about their relationship had always been that they could say anything to each other.

Anything but this, apparently. Artie opened his mouth to talk several times and each time he saw a flash in Jim's eyes. He wasn't sure what it was--fear, anxiety, a warning--but it told him plainly that he needed to leave it alone. All Artie could hope for was that Jim would relax his guard in time. If not, then, with that one loss of control, he might end up losing the best friendship and the dearest friend he'd ever had.

* * *

Napoleon hated stakeouts, especially stakeouts in the middle of nowhere. The Whispering Pines Ranch might be a thing of beauty during the day, but by night it was just dark and redolent of cows and cowshit. The only good thing was that Illya was with him. Granted, Illya was more taciturn than usual and seemed a bit depressed, but Napoleon figured he deserved to be.

Napoleon knew he'd be depressed if he'd just told someone he loved them and been told he wasn't loved in return. The last time it had happened to him, he had been very depressed. And he'd made sure it hadn't happened again. Unrequited love was a bitch.

But this was different. He did love Illya. As a friend. Napoleon scowled in the darkness. That's what she'd said too. That she loved him as a friend. That had been a bitch too. She'd wanted them to stay friends, to continue to spend time together, have him stick around for moral support and advice as she tried to find Mr. Right. 

Napoleon had had no intention of playing that role. He'd walked away, and the friendship had fallen into disrepair. It had taken a while to recover from it, but now he seldom thought of her, and when he did, the pain was completely gone.

Napoleon glanced over at Illya. He was looking through some experimental binoculars, ones that were supposed to use ambient moon and starlight to enhance night vision. 

A surge of affection swept through Napoleon, followed by a frisson of fear. Suppose Illya decided he couldn't stay. Suppose he couldn't handle Napoleon's love affairs. Suppose he saw Napoleon's friendship as a consolation prize that in no way made up for what he'd been hoping for. Napoleon's chest felt tight. He couldn't lose Illya. He felt the same anger he'd been inundated with that night at Illya's apartment sweep through him. Anger that Illya was upsetting things, asking for things to change, asking for too much. 

"Napoleon." Illya's voice was quiet, but Napoleon could hear an edge of excitement.

The anger still had him in its grip. "What?" he snapped. 

Illya gave him a surprised look. 

Napoleon took a deep breath, trying to get back in control. The unexpected anger kept sneaking up on him. He moved next to Illya and spoke again, calmer. "What is it?"

Illya handed him the binoculars and pointed. With his naked eyes, Napoleon could see a shining light off in the distance. He put the binoculars to his eyes and zoomed them. He flashed Illya an incredulous look. "It's square. It's a square light."

Illya nodded, the lure of a mystery written all over his face. "Yes, it is."

Napoleon lowered the binoculars. "I say we get a closer look."

Illya was already heading toward the car at a fast clip, and Napoleon rushed after him. Keeping their lights off, Napoleon drove slowly toward the light, handicapped by the heavily rutted dirt road that did not always go in the direction they wanted it to. Finally they got as close as they dared. Napoleon shut off the car and both men got out.

Fortunately, the moon wasn't too bright, or they would have stood out like targets as they made their way across the field. As they got closer, they could hear the cattle bellowing. Napoleon pulled Illya down behind the only scrub sizeable enough to even begin to offer some camouflage. 

The two men took in the scene. There were ten men, several of them on horses, keeping the cattle from running off and slowly herding them toward the light. Napoleon realized that it was actually shaped like a cube. Six feet high and wide, it sat there on the ground, like an inanimate object. 

As the cattle neared the light, two men grabbed hold of them and made sure they entered the light cube head on. None of the cattle looked especially happy at going through the bright portal. The branding they received immediately before entering didn't help.

Napoleon watched a cow walk into the light and vanish. Then a second one did it. He glanced at Illya and saw that his stoic partner had a truly flummoxed expression on his face. Napoleon's jaw dropped as a man walked out of the light. Their voices carried easily in the thin night air. "Gotta move the beam, Jack. They're stacking up. Gonna set one down right inside another one if you're not careful."

The man standing to the left of the light nodded and made some sort of adjustment on a metal box he held in his hand. "There, that should do it. It's about a mile away."

The newly arrived man shook his head. "Better make it farther. We got a hell of a lot of animals milling around down there."

Another adjustment was made. "That's ten miles." At the man's nod, he slipped it back into his pocket. "You got enough help?"

"We'll be all right with the men we got here. The cattle are a little spooked, and it's gonna take a couple of weeks to round them all up, but we'll find them all." He grinned at Jack. "Not that I blame the cows for being spooked. I don't imagine any of them have ever taken a ride this long before."

Jack let out a laugh. "No one has, Bill, no one has." Both men watched as several more cows were herded through.

Bill looked at his watch. "We still stopping after this herd?"

Jack nodded. "We got more than enough to get us started." He patted his pocket. "Besides, we can make one or two more trips after we see what the market is like."

Bill chuckled. "The boys are already making lists of the stuff they're unhappy to be doing without. It's getting pretty long. I don't think any of them paid much attention during history class."

Jack sneered. "They better get used to it. They've signed on for the long haul whether they like it or not."

Napoleon grabbed Illya's elbow and directed him to accompany him back a ways. He wanted to talk without the fear of being overheard. He and Illya crouched by another shrub. "Do you have any idea what they're doing?"

Illya frowned, shaking his head. "It's obviously some kind of door, but I don't know how he's making it, or how something like that can even exist. Or where the other end of it is."

Napoleon rapped his knuckles against his lips. "Someplace far away, without much in the way of luxuries, it sounds like."

"That could be a lot of places. Possibly Australia, deep inside the continent."

Without more information, all they could do was guess, so rather than waste their time on speculation, Napoleon and Illya crept closer again, watching as more and more cows disappeared off the land in front of them, being taken to who knew where. Napoleon could only think of two ways to find out where. One was to nab one of the rustlers and force him to talk. The other was to take a trip through the light fantastic. Option number two didn't really appeal to Napoleon. "We need to rustle us a cow thief."

Illya nodded. "Preferably Jack."

"Don't think we'll get away with that. We need to get one of the ones herding the cows. They get off to themselves every now and then."

Illya lifted the binoculars, ready to search for the right target. He suddenly stilled. "Napoleon, I think they're stopping."

Napoleon grabbed the binoculars. "What do you mean?"

"Just what I said. They're not taking them all. The men are starting to go through." As he spoke, two of the men started shooing the remaining cows away. Illya stood, and keeping low, began to run toward the light.

Napoleon cursed. He hissed as loudly as he could, "Illya." That got no response. "Illya!"

Illya ignored him. Napoleon cursed again and took off after his partner. 

As Napoleon ran, he kept one eye on Illya, while the other eye kept track of the activity around him. Almost everyone was through now. Only Jack, Bill, and two men on horseback remained. Jack slapped one of the two horses on the rump, and it startled forward. After the second horse was through, Jack turned to Bill and gestured for him to precede him. Bill sketched a bow with an imaginary hat, and Napoleon could hear both men laugh. 

After Bill stepped through, Jack pulled the controls out of his pocket and made an adjustment. He took a quick look around and stepped inside.

Much to Napoleon's dismay, Illya was only a few seconds behind him, and Napoleon let out a yell as Illya disappeared into the light. The light seemed to waver and, putting on a burst of steam, he leaped after his partner.

* * *

Jim could see that Artie wanted to talk about it, but he couldn't. Not now, maybe not ever. No matter what Artie wanted to say, Jim didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to hear Artie apologize, he didn't want to hear that Artie wanted him, he didn't want to hear that it didn't mean anything, and more than anything else, he didn't want to hear Artie tell him any more lies.

Jim found himself almost touching his lips, but he brought his hand down quickly, hoping Artie hadn't noticed. How could such a simple thing, just the pressing of lips against lips, make everything so different? He'd kissed a hundred women, maybe even more than that, and nothing had changed.

But now, they sat on different sides of their campfire, and for the first time since Jim had known Artie, they had nothing to say to each other. Not with that huge unspoken event hanging between them, growing by leaps and bounds, as if an elephant had suddenly appeared at their campsite.

Jim got up, restless. He poured the remains of his coffee into the fire, and derived a small sense of satisfaction as the fire spat back at him. "How about some breakfast?" He was pleased his voice sounded normal.

"That's a fine idea. What's on the menu, garcon?"

Jim winced at the forced gaiety in Artie's voice. He moved to the saddlebags, and took out two apples, and some bread and cheese. "Simple fare today."

Jim stood looking down at Artie, frustrated at how complicated everything felt. He should just sit down next to Artie and spread the food out between them, not worrying about hands brushing against hands, and knees knocking against knees. 

Artie glanced up and then away, but not before Jim saw the misery in his eyes, as if Artie knew exactly what his partner was thinking and felt as lost as he did. Suddenly Jim couldn't stand it. No matter what had happened, Artie was his best friend. They'd get through this. "Shove over, Artie."

He watched as Artie's eyes widened a bit, and a guarded look of hope crossed his face. Artie scooted back on the bedroll, making room. Jim sat down and laid the food out between them, determined to pretend it was like any of the other dozens of mornings they shared breakfast out in the open. He ignored the fact that his having to pretend made it anything but.

Jim handed Artie an apple and, cleaning his knife on his shirt, cut off a hunk of bread and a slice of cheese. "I was thinking that maybe we might want to head back to Dallas today." He hoped his voice sounded as casual as he wanted it to. Like it didn't really matter. Like it was fine if he and Artie spent another day alone, out in the middle of nowhere, with no one but each other for company.

"Good idea. I could stand a hot bath." Artie held up his apple. "And a hot breakfast."

Jim nodded, ignoring the sad look in his partner's eyes. "Then maybe after breakfast, we could get packed up and head on back." 

Artie closed his fingers tightly around his apple. He stood, shifting his weight between his feet. "I'll just go get the horses."

Jim gazed up at him. "We don't have to leave right away, Artie. You can eat your breakfast."

Artie shook his head. "I'm not as hungry as I thought." He tossed the apple in his hand. "But I'll bet Daisy will be glad to get her chompers around this."

Jim threw his unfinished apple up to his friend. "Better take this for Duke, then, or he's liable to take a bite out of you." 

Artie snagged it out of the air and nodded, even finding a grin. "You're right about that. I'll be back in a minute."

Jim nodded. "Keep track of your fingers." He smiled as Artie let out a laugh and turned to where they'd left the horses. Jim stood, his jaw set. They'd get through this. They had to. He wasn't willing to lose the best friend he'd ever had. 

It didn't take them long to clean up the campsite. The bedrolls were secured on the saddles, and all that remained was to put out the fire. Jim spun the shovel in his hand, planning on throwing some dirt on the flames, when he heard an unexpected crackle, accompanied by a buzzing noise that raised the hairs on his arm. There was a brilliant flash of light. "Artie!"

Artie spun around from where he was securing his saddlebags. "What, what is it?" When he saw it, he took a step backwards. There, not twenty feet away from them was a big cube of light. "What the…?" He took another step backwards, right into his horse, as a man leaped out of it, hitting the ground and rolling. The man came to his feet with his gun in hand. At least, Artie thought it was a gun. It didn't look like any kind of gun he'd ever seen, but the man held it like a gun, and Artie suspected it would kill like one, too.

Artie used one hand to settle his horse and put up his other in a gesture of peace. "Hey, fella, we're not looking for any trouble." 

The man took a staggering step and fell to his knees. Artie was at his side in an instant, relieving him of his gun, steadying him by a firm grip on his shoulder. "You all right?" He glanced at the inconceivable source of light in front of him that had just coughed out a man. He found it somewhat ironic that the good Lord seemed fit to throw a man at him this morning.

Artie looked back down at the man still kneeling on the ground and found himself lost in blue eyes. Bewildered blue eyes. Beautiful blue eyes.

At Jim's warning, Artie looked up just in time to see another man come through the square of light, a similar weapon in his hand.

The new arrival, dark-haired, dark-eyed, shook his head as if to clear it. He, too, took a shaky step and might have fallen if Jim hadn't reached his side and, like Artie, used the opportunity to relieve him of his weapon.

With another sharp crackle the light started to shrink until it was nothing more than a small spot suspended in the air before vanishing completely. 

"Napoleon?" Artie looked down and saw that blue-eyes was coming back to life. He was looking around Artie's legs to the other man at Jim's side. "Napoleon?" He tried to stand, but needed Artie's help to achieve his goal.

Artie kept a tight grip on him, not sure he wasn't going to fall flat on his face. "You know this man?" Artie took a closer look at blue-eyes' face and saw that whoever the dark-haired man was, he wasn't an enemy, not to this man, at any rate.

The blond man nodded. "Yes. I--" He looked around, and then looked at Artie and Jim. Looked at their clothing and their guns. "Where are we?"

Artie barked out a laugh. "I think the question I'd rather hear an answer to would be where did you come from?"

Now the dark-haired man seemed to be coming around. "Illya?"

"Right here, Napoleon."

Artie registered their names. Illya. Napoleon. Unusual names.

Napoleon turned, and Artie watched as he took in Artie's hold on Illya and then stared at Jim's hand on his own arm. Napoleon followed the arm up to Jim's face. "Am I your prisoner?"

Jim shook his head. "Not unless you think you need to be."

Napoleon raised his eyebrows at that. Then he moved away from Jim and walked toward Illya, his eyes watching Artie. Artie took the hint and stepped away. Napoleon put his hand on Illya's shoulder. "You all right?"

Illya nodded. "I think so."

"Do you have any idea where we are?"

Illya shook his head. "No."

"You're in Texas."

Illya glanced at Artie. "Where in Texas?"

"About ten miles outside of Dallas."

Artie watched as Napoleon rubbed his face. Then he took a long look around him. "You two see any cattle around here?"

"This is cattle country. It'd be hard to avoid seeing them now and then." Artie gave them both a frown. "You're not exactly dressed for cow-handling." This whole thing was starting to feel like a dream. Artie gestured toward the fire. "Maybe you two should take a seat, and then you can regale us with a tale about that thing that spit you out at us. By the way, my name is Artemus Gordon, and my partner here is James West."

Napoleon gave both men a considered scrutiny. Artie waited for his conclusion, watched as the two men shared a silent communication. Finally Napoleon laid a hand on his chest. "Napoleon Solo, and my partner's name is Illya Kuryakin." With that, he and Illya walked over to the fire and sat down on the log facing it.

Artie pursed his lips considering Illya. "What is that? Russian?"

Illya nodded.

"You speak English very well." Artie was surprised. Illya didn't even have much of an accent. Perhaps he came to America as a child. "Have you been here long?"

"A little over two years." He looked as if he might say more but then something caught his eye. He was up and across the clearing in moments. Artie followed him, curious. 

"Artie, what are you looking at?" Jim's voice came from right behind him.

Artie was watching Illya's hand running along the smooth inner surface of a tree and Artie let out a whistle. "That thing, whatever it was, it cut this tree right in half."

Illya grabbed a stick and, following the wake of devastation the light left behind, drew another perfect square. It had cut through everything, even a tree. Artie looked down at the drawn square. "What the hell was that thing?"

Illya gave him a tight smile. "That's what we were trying to discover."

Napoleon's voice joined the conversation, sarcastic. "Which he decided could be best learned by close observation. Very close."

Illya frowned, but pressed on. "We needed to know what it was and where it went."

"Well, now we know, so I suggest we call in and then head for home. We can get the local team to find those damn cows now that we know they're still here in Texas somewhere."

Jim furrowed his brow at Napoleon. "What local team is that?"

Napoleon deigned not to answer. Instead he reached into his jacket's inner pocket and took out a slender silver cylinder. He uncapped it, made a screwing motion and spoke into it. "Open Channel D."

Artie and Jim exchanged looks, watching as Napoleon frowned at the mechanism in his hand. Then Illya took one out just like it and went through the same exercise with the same results. Absolutely nothing.

Napoleon recapped it, putting it back in his pocket. "Well, if you gentlemen will just point us in the direction of the nearest phone, we'll be in your debt."

Artie frowned. "A phone?"

Napoleon gave him a look. "Yes, a phone."

Artie shook his head. "You know what he's talking about, Jim?"

Napoleon let out a short laugh. "Okay. You've had your fun. Now, just point us in the right direction and we'll get out of your hair." At the continued puzzled looks between Artie and Jim, Napoleon pursed his lips. "If that's the way you're playing this, we'll pick our own direction. If we're in Texas and near Dallas, there should be a dozen cities within walking distance." 

Artie began to catch the drift. "This phone of yours, do you use it to talk to someone else?"

Napoleon rolled his eyes. 

Artie kept on. "Because if what you're looking for is a telegraph, the closest station is in Dallas." He pointed to his left. "About ten miles that way."

Napoleon glanced at Illya and crooked a finger at him to get the Russian to join him. "I've had enough of this joke. Let's go." He turned to Jim. "First, I'd like my gun back."

Jim handed him his gun, and Napoleon holstered it in his shoulder harness. Napoleon gave Artie a tight smile. "Ten miles that way? I don't suppose you have a car you'd like to loan us?" 

Artie cleared his throat. "Car?"

Napoleon blew out a frustrated breath. "Yes, a car. You know, a horseless carriage." 

Artie shook his head.

Illya tugged on Napoleon's sleeve and pointed at the two horses.

Napoleon rolled his eyes. "Right." He pointed in the direction Artie had indicated. "Come on, Illya. Westward ho."

Illya looked up in the sky and shook his head, pointing ninety degrees away from where Napoleon was pointing. "I think west is that way." He moved his arm 180 degrees. "Or that way."

Napoleon gave him a look. "You're spoiling the moment."

Illya bit his lip to keep from grinning. "Lead on, Kemosabe."

"I'm impressed, you weren't even in this country when that show was on." He turned to Artie and Jim. "We'll just be on our way, unless you're planning on stopping us."

Artie flashed Jim a confused look. "Why would we stop you? It's a free country." 

Napoleon snorted. "Right." He waved his hand at his partner. "Come on, Illya, let's go." He headed off, Illya moving into step beside him.

Artie watched them go and then looked at his partner. "I'm thinking we should keep an eye on those two."

Jim nodded. "I agree. I'll put out the fire." Picking up the shovel, he began to drop dirt on the fire until it was completely out.

Artie checked cinches, and within minutes they were mounted and slowly following the two walking men.

* * *

Illya spoke softly. "They're following us."

"I know." Napoleon looked around. "I never knew Texas was so empty. I can't believe we haven't even come to a road."

Illya was glancing around as well. "No power lines, either."

Napoleon let out a grunt of agreement, and they kept walking. They were both in shape and kept a steady pace. Ninety minutes later, the scenery hadn't changed. The only sign of civilization was a roughly constructed wooden double rail fence, and a handful of cows, none with a Thrush brand. 

* * *

Jim gave Artie a confused look. "Who do you think they are?"

Artie shook his head. "I have no idea. I'm more interested in what that thing was they came out of."

Jim's lips tightened. "Do you think it could be one of Loveless' inventions?"

"It's certainly right up his alley, but it's not like him to pull something like this and then not appear right after the fact to chortle. Those men didn't seem to mean us any harm."

Jim sighed. "For some reason, I think they can be trusted, but I'd feel better if I knew what they were up to. I don't want to let them out of my sight until I know."

Artie nodded his agreement and took out a handkerchief to wipe his brow. "I know I'm hot, so those two fellas must be burning up."

* * *

Napoleon sighed. "Are we still heading in the right direction?" He took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead. It was hot.

Illya looked up at the sky and then at his watch. Then, he looked up at the sky again. "According to the compass on my watch, we are, but if my watch is right, the sun's in the wrong place."

Napoleon stopped. "What?"

"My watch says it's eight in the morning." He pointed at the sun, which was about a quarter of the way up from the horizon. "The sun's position makes it closer to ten."

Napoleon made a face, and then shrugged. "It was also night when we left so obviously we were in that box for a while, or it doesn't care if it spits you out at the same time of day."

Illya gave the sun another quick frown, and then refocused on their destination. "If Dallas was only ten miles away, we should be able to see the city skyline."

Napoleon let out a short laugh. "And maybe a person or two." He let out a sigh. "This makes no sense." He shielded his eyes from the sun as he looked for the two men following them. "And what about them? Are they part of this? Are they working for Thrush?"

Illya shrugged. "They aren't acting like any Thrush flunkies I've ever had to deal with."

"No, me either." He cupped his hands around his mouth. "Hey, James, Artemus."

The two men came riding up, and looked down at the hot and tired men. Artie unlooped his canteen and handed it to Illya. "Here, have some water."

Illya gave him a grateful smile and took a long swallow.

Napoleon nudged him. "How do you know it's safe to drink that?"

"Because I want it to be." He handed it to Napoleon. "Want to risk it, or should I give it back to Artemus?"

Napoleon scowled at his partner and took a healthy swallow. He handed it back to Artie. "Thanks. Now would you mind telling me where the city is?"

Artie pointed in the direction they were walking. "Right over that rise."

Napoleon let out a scoffing sound. "If it was right over that hill, we'd be seeing a skyline by now."

Artie flashed Jim another one of those looks. "Skyline?"

Napoleon let out a long breath. "Boy, you like this game, don't you?" He lifted his hand in the air, intimating something tall. "Buildings, tall ones, lots of them all in a row. Skyline."

Illya just headed toward the hill. When he got up there, he stood very still. Napoleon joined him, wondering what had captured his attention. They both stood there and looked down on a town that belonged in a western movie film lot. No skyline. No paved streets, no neon, just lots of wooden buildings, with hand-painted signs, horses, either being ridden, or pulling wagons, and people dressed in clothes suited to a time long gone. "Is this a movie set?" Napoleon turned to Artie before he could speak. "Don't say it."

Illya shook his head. "This makes no sense."

"Unless there were hallucinogens in the water they gave us."

"No, even then, this makes no sense."

Napoleon let out a long sigh. "Why do I get the feeling that we're not in Kansas anymore?"

Illya headed down toward the city. Napoleon followed him, Jim and Artie bringing up the rear on their horses. When they approached the first block of buildings, Artie and Jim dismounted, tied up their horses and began to walk with Napoleon and Illya. 

Neither Illya nor Napoleon said a word. This might have been a movie set, but if it was, they hadn't missed a trick. Finally Napoleon leaned in to Illya. "There's no electricity."

"There's also no film crew." Illya turned as he heard hoof beats and watched as a wagon drawn by two sturdy workhorses pulled up in front of the general store. "If this is a Thrush trick, they must have spent a fortune on it."

Napoleon picked up a newspaper that was lying in a rocking chair in front of a building labeled The Lone Star Inn. He sank down onto the chair as he saw the date.

Illya glanced down at him. "What is it?"

Napoleon handed him the paper.

Illya ran his eyes over it, and his eyes widened. He glanced down at Napoleon in disbelief. "1872?" He looked at Artie. "It's 1872?"

Artie gave him a puzzled smile. Playing along, he said, "Yes, for several months now."

Illya sank down onto a second rocking chair. "1872. We're in the past, 

Napoleon. They took the cattle and brought them here, to the past. That's why no one could find them."

Artie's eyebrows were almost off his face. "What are you talking about? What do you mean, the past?"

Illya looked up at him. "We're from 1966."

Jim snorted out a derisive laugh. "Now who's being a joker?" He let out a disgusted sigh but then caught sight of Artie looking closely at the two men.

Napoleon tugged out his wallet and handed it to Jim.

Jim opened it up and by the time he and Artie had gone through it, they were both sitting down as well. Artie kept looking at Napoleon's license, Napoleon having pointed out his date of birth. "You were born in 1936?" He glanced over at Illya, his eyes questioning.

Illya touched his chest lightly. "1939."

Artie shook his head. "Holy Mother of God." He looked at his partner. "How is this possible?"

Jim gave him a tight smile. "You're the inventor, Artie. This is your territory, not mine."

Napoleon gave Illya a plaintive look. "Illya? Tell me this isn't happening. Please. I wanted Italian tonight."

Illya let out a strained laugh. He glanced at his partner and gave him a lopsided grin, pointing at the sign over their head. "I'm afraid your choice of restaurants has just become severely limited."

Napoleon let out a morose sigh. "Not to mention toilet facilities." He stood, suddenly resolute. "We have to find Jack and Bill and that gadget of his and get us sent back to our time." He snapped his fingers at Illya again. "Come on, we don't have any time to waste."

Artie let out a laugh. "Actually, you have plenty of time to waste. Close to a hundred years."

Napoleon let his breath out in a huff. "I need a drink."

Artie handed him a flask. Napoleon uncapped it and took a swig. It took his breath away. He coughed, tears streaming from his eyes. "What the hell is that stuff?"

Artie took the flask back, frowning at it, giving it a sniff. "Whiskey." He took a sip. "Good whiskey."

Napoleon was trying to draw in a deep breath. "Jesus, that stuff will kill you."

Illya flashed Artie a questioning look and held out his hand. Artie handed him the flask and Illya took a sip. His eyes widened but he didn't cough. 

Napoleon glared at him. "Show off."

Rather than going back to the train, they took advantage of the Inn so all the men could take a bath, and then, once that was done, they stayed for dinner. While they ate, they talked, and as they learned about each other's lives, they began to truly believe that the inconceivable had happened. 

Artie toasted the four of them with his drink. "'There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy'." He let out a laugh. "But don't this beat all."

Napoleon let out a sigh and then glanced at Jim. "Secret Service, hmm? What were you doing out there in the middle of nowhere? Think there's a counterfeiter doing business under a bush somewhere?"

Jim glanced at Artie. "We were taking a vacation."

Napoleon looked askance at them both. He couldn't imagine taking a vacation where there weren't women and plenty of alcohol around. Not to mention soft beds and indoor plumbing.

Artie glanced at Illya and flashed him a grin. Not for the first time, 

Napoleon noticed that Artie seemed to be paying Illya some undue attention. He frowned. "Well, we're sorry we interrupted your vacation, but we have to find those men. This concerns you too, because you definitely don't want Thrush setting up business in your day and age. They may be dabbling in the cattle industry now, but sooner or later they'll be looking to take over the government. It's just the way they operate."

Jim let his eyes roam critically over the two visitors. "We need to get you two into some decent clothes so you'll fit in." Napoleon let out a disgruntled noise. "Let's take them back to the train. Your clothes should fit Napoleon, and I'm sure I can find something for Illya to wear." 

Artie nodded and stood. "I'll get the horses." He shooed Jim away with his fingers. "Lay on, MacDuff."

Jim grinned and set off for the train, Napoleon at his side.

Illya stayed behind with Artie as he untied the horses. As Artie handed him the reins to Jim's horse, Illya finished the quote Artie had started. "And damn'd be him that first cries, 'Hold, enough!'"

Artie shot him a delighted smile. "Ah, a fellow thespian?"

Illya quirked his lips in a small smile and shook his head. "I just like to read."

"Shakespeare?"

"Anything."

That got another delighted smile. "Ah, a fellow seeker of knowledge."

"You could say that."

"Then I shall, my friend, I shall." Leading the horses, they caught up with Jim and Napoleon. 

* * *

Napoleon listened to Artie and Illya talk nonstop as they made their way to the train. It seemed that Illya had met his conversational soulmate. Every time he overheard what they were talking about it, it covered everything from quotes of Shakespeare, geology, and history to a comparison of favorite disguises. 

Jim, on the other hand, didn't say much. He pointed out a few things of interest, but for the most part seemed content to stay silent. That was fine with Napoleon. This whole time-traveling thing was a bit unsettling, and he was appreciating the opportunity to be alone in his head. A part of him still wasn't sure he believed it.

Then Jim interrupted his reverie. "I didn't think anyone knew as much Shakespeare as Artie."

Napoleon grinned back. "Illya reads anything he can get his hands on, and he remembers everything he reads." It was a remarkable talent. Not that Napoleon was a slacker in the memory department, but he couldn't compare with Illya.

Jim nodded at that. "Artie does too. Read everything, I mean."

Both men looked at Artie and Illya and the exclusive conversation they seemed to be enjoying. Napoleon wondered what the frown on Jim's face meant, and then realized he had one on his own face as well.

About twenty minutes later they arrived and even though Jim had said it was a train, Napoleon was surprised that it really was a train. A private train. A nice train. He felt a moment of envy, imagining how nice it would be for him and Illya to have a traveling base of operations. But then he thought of his apartment and his bathroom and kitchen with modern appliances, and a closet full of Italian suits and how much he'd wanted some of Mama Leoni's lasagna tonight, and stopped being envious.

His thoughts segued to their current dilemma. They needed to find the Thrush ranch and get them all back to the twentieth century. To do that, they needed to find the cows, and he was already sick of them. They'd seen a few on the hike to Dallas and made fine fools of themselves chasing them around trying to see the brands on their flanks, coming up empty-handed for their efforts. The problem was that they could be anywhere. And anywhen. 

Jack had made an adjustment to the gadget based on Bill's request to send the second batch of cows to another place. Then, Jack had made a similar adjustment right before he'd jumped in the light cube. Now Napoleon wondered about that second adjustment. At the time he hadn't paid much attention because he'd been too busy trying to keep up with Illya, making sure the infuriating Russian didn't go anywhere without him. 

If he'd been forced to make a guess, it would have been that Jack was making sure he didn't land inside a cow when he passed through and had made the change for his own safety. But now, Napoleon wasn't so sure. If that had been the case, he and Illya should have landed near where Jack came out. But they hadn't. In fact, seeing as they hadn't seen hide nor hair of a Thrush-branded cow, it seemed as if they were nowhere near the man.

Given that they now knew the gadget was something that could affect time, perhaps Jack had, based on the usual Thrush paranoia, ensured that if someone was watching them and had plans to follow them, that they'd be the ones who'd get thrown far afield. By either distance, or Napoleon worried, by time. It was possible that he and Illya were now permanently stranded in the 1870's while Jack was enjoying his new cattle baron existence in another decade entirely. That thought depressed him, so he pushed it away. 

Illya and Artie entered the train, after getting the horses settled for the night. Illya gave Napoleon a smile, and Napoleon was glad that all the awkwardness from the other night seemed to be gone. 

And Napoleon was pleased Illya had found someone to distract him for the time being. Well, he was mostly pleased. He was a little jealous, too. He'd never had to share Illya before, and it felt strange to be the third wheel. He'd caught Jim giving Illya and Artie some looks and wondered if he felt the same way. After all, partners were partners. And partners were supposed to stick together.

Artie showed him to the guest bedroom, and handed him some clothes. "We're close to the same size. Hopefully these will fit you." Napoleon smiled his thanks and took the clothes. After he donned them he looked in the mirror. Not up to his usual sartorial elegance, but he'd do. He left the room and found his way back to the parlor car. Artie and Jim were pouring drinks; Illya had gone to change into his newly borrowed clothes. 

Artie raised his drink in a toast. "Ah, now you look a proper gentleman."

Napoleon sketched out a bow of thanks. 

Jim gestured toward his partner. "Artie sent off a message. We'll see if anyone has any news."

The three men talked while waiting for Illya. When Illya returned, Artie and Jim took the opportunity to change their clothes.

* * *

Illya thought Napoleon looked very nice in his new outfit. Everything seemed to fit him just right. Illya swallowed a sigh, wishing he could compliment Napoleon and not have his comments be taken amiss. He also wished he could go run his hands down the lapels, and feel the strength of Napoleon's body through the fabric, and--

Illya stopped that train of thought. The trousers Jim had given him were already a bit snug. He was glad he'd been given a jacket long enough to cover his groin. There was a little too much of him on display as it was. 

He liked it here. He liked the fresh air. He liked the opportunity to be near horses. And he liked Jim and Artie. Especially Artie. He was nice, and smart, and, Illya was reasonably certain, he was also a lover of men. He had seen the looks Artie sent Jim although Illya hadn't decided if the two men were having a relationship or not. It was clear that they were very fond of each other, but that was all he knew for sure.

Jim entered the room and when he moved to stand next to Napoleon, Illya had to work at not dropping his jaw. There was no doubt that Jim was a good-looking man. But now that he was cleaned and dressed up, he was gorgeous. Beautiful. And Napoleon was beautiful as well. Illya felt a flush of desire that he quickly suppressed. He glanced quickly at Artie, and found the taller man's eyes on him. 

Artie moved to stand behind Illya and whispered in his ear. "What a piece of work is man. Hmm?" 

Illya could feel his face redden, and he didn't respond.

* * *

Napoleon was watching Illya. He had seen his eyes go wide when Jim appeared. Napoleon turned and had to admit that Jim was a good-looking man. He frowned. Then he turned back and saw Artie whispering in Illya's ear, and him blushing in response. Napoleon frowned again. He glanced at Jim and saw that he was frowning too. 

A minute later, after deciding there wasn't much they could do until the next day, they were all hustling out the door with plans for some carousing in the booming metropolis of Dallas. 

* * *

Jim walked next to Napoleon, while he kept his eye on Illya and Artie. He was uncomfortable with how the two of them had taken to each other. It was true that Artie made friends easily, and no matter where they went they would inevitably run into someone who claimed Artie as a friend, but Artie always went out of his way to make it clear that Jim was his number one friend.

He'd always done it, and Jim hadn't realized until now how much he depended on it. It was important to him that he be the most important person in Artie's life. But since Illya came along, Artie had left Jim alone.

Jim thought about that kiss again. He wondered about Illya. He wondered what, if anything, was actually transpiring between the two men and what he might be in danger of losing. He needed more information. "Napoleon, how long have you and Illya been partners?"

"A little over two years."

Jim pursed his lips, thinking. He didn't know how to ask what he wanted without coming right out and asking, but he didn't want to get punched. Something told him that Napoleon could hold his own in fisticuffs. 

"How about you and Artie?"

"Four years."

Napoleon nodded. "That's a long time."

Jim nodded.

"You seem to be pretty good friends as well."

Jim nodded again. "We are." There was a pause. "You and Illya seem like you're friends as well."

"We are. He's my best friend."

"Artie, too."

They walked in silence for a minute, both sets of eyes on Illya and Artie as they laughed over something Artie had just said. Neither man missed the sparkle in Illya's eyes as he looked up at Artie, and Artie's eyes twinkling in response. Nor did they miss how closely they walked together, their shoulders brushing as they made their way down the wooden sidewalk. 

* * *

Napoleon asked it first, although he wasn't sure what possessed him to open his mouth. "Are you and he…?" He chickened out, his good sense finally regaining control of his tongue.

"Are we what?"

Napoleon shook his head. "Never mind."

"What?"

Napoleon shook his head again. He was trying to figure out why he wanted to know. And he was trying to deny that what he felt when he saw Artie and Illya together was jealousy. A cold knot started to form when for a horrifying second he imagined Illya choosing to stay. Refusing to accompany Napoleon back to their time, deciding that there was nothing there for him.

Napoleon felt a desperate need for Jim to tell him that he and Artie were lovers, that Artie was not available, that there was nothing here for Illya, no reason for him to stay. His good sense lost control of his tongue again and he blurted it out. "Is he a homosexual?"

Jim's eyebrows rose. "A what? A homo what?"

Napoleon could feel the blush heating his face. He couldn't remember the last time he felt like such an idiot. "Never mind."

"No, you clearly want to ask me something about Artie, what is it?"

Napoleon ran his hands over his face, hoping to cool his flushed cheeks. "It's none of my business."

Jim snorted out a laugh. "I don't know that any of the standard rules apply, considering the current situation. I suggest you just ask your question and save yourself from making erroneous assumptions."

Napoleon wasn't sure how to ask his question again without getting more descriptive than he wanted to. "You two live together?"

Jim nodded. "When our work doesn't send us in different directions." He shot a lopsided smile at Napoleon. "Which is a good deal of the time."

Napoleon nodded. "And you take vacations together."

Jim nodded again. "We do." He glanced up sharply as Artie let out a laugh, putting his arm companionably around Illya's shoulders. 

Napoleon saw the sharp glance and could feel its echo on his own face. Illya seemed entirely too comfortable with Artie's touch for Napoleon's peace of mind, even leaning in closer to the taller man.

Napoleon glanced around and saw that no one was paying them the slightest attention. As if it was nothing out of the ordinary for two men to allow their affections such free reign. Another pang of jealousy struck at him. Illya never touched him like that. Not unless one of them was injured and required that level of physical support. 

Napoleon's eyes wandered to Jim, and he saw the tightened lips. Maybe the people around them didn't mind that Artie and Illya were walking that way, but Napoleon was guessing that Jim did. He gestured at the two men with a nod of his chin. "Is that acceptable here?"

Jim shot him a puzzled look. "Is what acceptable here?"

"Men, touching that way."

Jim's brow furrowed. "What way?"

That answered Napoleon's question. But it didn't explain why it bothered Jim so much. Unless it was bothering him for the same sort of reason. "Men generally don't touch that way in our time, not unless they're--" he took a deep breath, "lovers." 

Jim's eyebrows almost rose off his head. "Are there a lot of men like that in your time?"

Napoleon shook his head, but then he realized he really had no idea. After all, he hadn't known about Illya and he was closer to him than to anyone. "It's hard to know. It's not considered an acceptable lifestyle. Men like that are ostracized, beaten sometimes, if the wrong people find out. I imagine they hide it, except from the people they trust the most."

Napoleon felt his chest tighten when he realized what a risk Illya had truly taken by speaking the truth. It made him feel proud that Illya trusted him that much, and then it made him feel ashamed when he remembered how he had responded. 

* * *

Jim was watching Illya and Artie closely. If Illya came from a time when behavior like this was unacceptable, if touching like this was only done between men who were lovers, then what did it mean that he was so accepting of Artie's touch? 

His thoughts were interrupted as Napoleon asked another question. "Is it more acceptable here?"

Jim shrugged. "I never heard of anyone being beaten for it. I know men like that are looked down on by some. They usually stick to their own kind." Jim let out a sigh and thought of that kiss again. He nodded toward Illya and Artie. "No one would make that assumption about the two of them, though, just because they're touching like that. But--"

Jim hesitated, knowing that nothing was as it seemed. They looked like four ordinary men. No one would suspect that two of them were from the future, or that his partner had kissed him this morning, and that the seemingly harmless tableau of two men sharing each other's company by slinging their arms around each other was probably anything but. 

He wondered if the kiss had meant anything. Maybe it had just happened because he was the most convenient man around. Jim found himself annoyed at that idea and startled that he was annoyed. It confused him that while he didn't want Artie wanting him, if Artie did want him, Jim wanted it to be for more reason than the need to scratch an itch. 

Everything felt complicated now. Things had been fine the way they were. He and Artie, partners and best friends. Simple. But now it wasn't simple. Now he had a memory of an unexpected kiss that wouldn't go away. He watched Artie show friendship for another man and found it threatening, wondering if Artie wanted to kiss him too, wondered if Artie's affection for him was so easily replaced. 

He chastised himself for his thoughts. He knew Artie cared about him. This didn't change anything. Jim frowned, knowing he was lying to himself. This changed everything. He glanced at Napoleon. "Your friend, Illya, is he--?" The question broke off.

Jim saw the anxiety in Napoleon's eyes and guessed that they were both in the same boat, nervous about the same thing. Napoleon let out a sigh. "Is Artemus?"

Their eyes met, the dismay clear in both sets of eyes, answering each other's questions. Neither man said anything else until they reached the saloon.

* * *

The saloon came complete with a floorshow of scantily clad women, who after the show made a point of coming over and draping themselves over the four men. It depressed Illya to see Napoleon enjoying himself so much, so after a while he extricated himself from the clutches of a willowy redhead, and moved away.

Artie followed him, first grabbing a bottle of liquor from the bar. The two men found a corner table to sit at. Artie poured them both a drink. "Illya, I think that we are kindred spirits in more than the pursuit of knowledge."

Illya downed his drink and just gave Artie a morose stare.

Artie followed suit with his own shot of whiskey, and found an appropriate quote from Shakespeare. "'Then must you speak of one that lov'd not wisely but too well'." 

Illya grimaced. "Is it that obvious?"

"Only to one who suffers from the same plight."

"You and Jim?"

"Or to be more exact, me and not Jim. Much as I suspect it is you and not Napoleon."

"Does he know?"

Artie poured them another set of drinks. "Let's just say he has reason to suspect."

Illya cocked his head to the side. "What did you do?"

Artie let out a long sigh. "I kissed him."

  
Illya's eyes widened. "You kissed him?" Realizing he needed to keep his voice down, he leaned in and asked again, in a softer voice, "You kissed him?" Illya was envious. Not of Jim, but that Artie had kissed him. At least he'd done that much, had that much to remember. "What happened?"

"He didn't appreciate it, but I recovered nicely and lied through my teeth, telling him I was having a dream. He pretended to believe it, and that was that. Then you two showed up." He took a healthy swallow. "How about you?"

"I told him I was in love with him."

Artie toasted him. "Good for you. What did he do?"

Illya gave him a small smile. "He didn't appreciate it." He didn't really want to tell Artie Napoleon's exact words. They still hurt too much.

"Ah, love." They sat in silence for a few minutes, both of them trying not to pay attention to Jim and Napoleon's amorous activities up by the bar. Finally Artie sat up. "I don't know about you, but I think I could do with some fresh air."

Illya nodded, instantly agreeing, not wanting to watch Napoleon and his women for another second. 

"Then let's take a stroll." Artie stood, dropping a coin on the table.

* * *

Napoleon had noticed Illya go off to a corner table with Artie. He didn't like it. He glanced at Jim and saw that, despite the lovely lady clinging to him, his eyes were on the corner table as well. Napoleon wished he knew what they were talking about. 

His eyes narrowed to slits as the two men got up and headed for the door. Napoleon felt fingers tighten around his arm. He looked around and saw Jim's unhappy eyes following the two men to the door. "I don't like this."

Napoleon agreed. "I don't like it either."

With no regard for the woman by his side, Jim moved away. "Let's go."

Napoleon couldn't move fast enough. He didn't want to think about why he was stopping Illya from leaving with Artie. All he knew was that he had to.

A man stepped into the saloon, keeping Illya and Artie from immediately leaving, as he was a little unsteady on his feet. Napoleon took a good look at his face and knew he'd seen him before. And that meant-- Interrupting his own thought, he tried to catch Illya's eye. Illya's eyes were just as wide. He grabbed Napoleon's arm and dragged him outside. Artie and Jim followed. "Napoleon, that was one of the men."

Napoleon felt a moment of intense relief. They weren't stranded. Thrush was here, and that meant they could get home. He and Illya could get home, together. Just the two of them.

They huddled for a moment, deciding what to do. They needed to talk to him, but they also needed to not tip their hand and force Thrush to try another decade. A scream from inside interrupted their plotting, and the four men pushed through the door. The man they were after was lying on the floor. Jim looked around for any possible danger while Napoleon crouched next to the man.

The bartender spoke defensively to Artie. "Nothing happened. He was drinking and then he started to spit up some blood and the next thing I know he was on the floor." He was unhappily mopping up some blood spittle from the counter. "Why he had to come in here to die is beyond me. I run a clean joint."

Artie consoled him. "We know you do, Johnson. We'll take care of it."

He moved to crouch next to Napoleon. "Is he dead?"

Napoleon nodded. "Very."

"Let's get him outside so we can check him out without an audience."

Napoleon grabbed an arm, while Artie grabbed another and they dragged him through the door. They dragged him around the corner until they had him under a gaslight. Then Artie and Napoleon started checking him out. Napoleon let out a noise of disgust and wiped his hand on the post nearest him. "There's blood everywhere."

Jim frowned down at them. "What'd he die from? Was he shot?"

Artie shook his head. "There's no bullet wound that I can see. It's like he just started bleeding for no reason." 

"People don't bleed to death for no reason, Artie."

"I know that, Jim, but I'll be danged if I can figure out why he seems to have bled out of every orifice he has and then some."

They heard footsteps and Jim looked to see who it was. He tipped his hat. "Sheriff Wills. Good to see you again, even if it isn't under the best of circumstances."

"Jim, Artemus. Good to see you as well." He looked down at the dead body. "I understand there's been some trouble."

Artie moved to stand next to the sheriff. "News travels fast. You're looking at the trouble, but there's no evidence of foul play."

"You want the doc to take a look at him?"

Napoleon looked up from where he was still crouched by the body. "Yes."

Artie did the introductions, explaining that Illya and Napoleon were agents from out of town. The four agents picked the man up and carried him over to the doc's barbershop. The sheriff went looking for the doc.

The sheriff appeared with the doctor in tow, looking none too steady on his feet. With Artie's assistance, they stripped the dead man down. In the brighter light it was clear that the man had been sick. His skin was pasty and flaking off and his body was bruised in several places.

The doctor swayed on his feet, and Jim put out a steadying hand. "What do you think he died from, Doc?"

The doctor shook his head. "I have me no idea. This is just like that there man who died yesterday."

Napoleon gave him a sharp look. "What man?"

"Never saw him before neither. He came into the shop, sayin' he was sick. He kept mumblin' about how he had to get home. Then he up and died. There twern't nothin' I could do for him."

The sheriff looked grim. "Do we have some sort of plague on our hands?"

"I don't know, Ken. If it is, it ain't nothin' like I ever seen." 

The sheriff turned to Artie. "How about you, Artemus. You ever seen something like this before?"

Artie shook his head. "Never." He looked down at the dead man with pity. "I guess he just ran out of time." His eyes widened as he realized what he said, and he flashed the other men an ominous look. "Out of time."

Illya moved closer to Napoleon. Napoleon let his fingers close around his partner's arm.

Jim took charge, speaking to the sheriff. "Sorry to leave him on your hands. Wish we could help you more but it's time for us to get back to the train. If we hear anything we'll let you know."

The sheriff nodded, looking glumly at the dead body. "We'll get him buried tomorrow. I sure hope it isn't catching."

Napoleon caught Illya's eye. "Me too."

Illya nodded and followed the other men out of the building.

* * *

None of them wanted to talk about it. They were all too tired. Sleeping arrangements were awkwardly arranged. Jim expected both men to sleep in the guest room. Illya declined and said he'd sleep on the couch. Jim offered to sleep on the couch and let Illya have his room. Illya refused his offer. Artie offered for Illya to sleep with him. Illya refused his offer too, and both Napoleon and Jim supported him wholeheartedly. 

In the end, Illya got his way and slept on the couch. Nobody got much sleep.

* * *

The next morning they were up early. Jim had arranged for another pair of horses, and although Napoleon stared at his horse with some trepidation, he mounted easily. With Jim leading the way, they set off on their search for Thrush.

After a brief look at the map, it was decided that they would do a southeasterly sweep around Dallas that day, and then tomorrow, if they found nothing, they would focus on the northwest. The plan allowed for them to continue using the train as their base of operation. 

They rode all morning and came up empty-handed. They saw plenty of cattle, but none with a Thrush brand. Artie forced them to stop long enough to eat some lunch. Shortly thereafter they were back on the horses. 

Jim found the first dead cow mid-afternoon. He let out a piercing whistle and the other three rode over. Grim-faced, they all dismounted. The cow was lying in a pool of blood. There were blisters on its belly and muzzle, and after a messy job of flipping the cow, they found a brand of a small bird on its flank.

Artie saw the next one. It was in the same condition. And again, it seemed to have been just roaming free, no fences in sight. 

Napoleon sighed. "Maybe they haven't had time to build a fence."

Illya was using his binoculars, trying to find more cattle. "Or maybe they hadn't rounded these up yet. He was having them arrive in different areas. We're proof of that."

Jim was still crouched down by the dead cow. "Why are they dying?" He glanced up at Artie. "Why did those men die?"

Artie shrugged, looking distinctly unhappy. "I don't really know, Jim. I don't know of any disease that does this to you. I wonder…" He paused.

Illya put down the binoculars, glancing at Artie. "What do you wonder?"

Artie let out a long breath. "I wonder if it's because they don't belong here. That time is taking care of itself. That it's eliminating the threat to a future that's already written."

Jim frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Artie walked over to his horse and got out his flask. He took a swallow and offered it around. No one refused. "Think about it, Jim. Someone comes back here from the future, and they kill the wrong person, or they birth the wrong person, they make someone turn left when they should have turned right. All those things over a period of a hundred years can rewrite the future."

He pointed at Napoleon. "Suppose someone shot your great-great-great-great-grandmother or changed circumstances so she married someone other than your great-great-great-great-grandfather?"

Napoleon put his hand on his chest. "But I'm still here."

"That's right, you are. You both are, and that makes me believe that it's harder to mess around with time than it seems it might be. It's like throwing a rock into a pond. It may take a few minutes, but eventually everything smoothes out again. The water wins."

Illya picked up a stone and worried it between his fingers. "So you think that time will also win?"

Artie gestured toward the dead cow. "I think it is winning. The men, the cows, they're all dying. And fast. Before too many changes can occur."

Illya threw the rock with stunning speed. It fell a remarkable distance away. "So, we will die too if we do not find a way home." He and Napoleon exchanged glances. So did Artie and Jim. There was nothing to be said. The death around them said it all.

Several hours later, they had found fifteen more dead cows, but no signs of the men that had brought them to this time. They kept on, feeling the passage of time keenly. It was past dark by the time they gave up for the day. Despondently, they turned back toward the train.

When they arrived, they all dismounted and Artie started gathering up the reins. "You all go in. I'll see the horses settled."

Illya grabbed two sets of reins. "I'll help you."

Artie gave him a smile. "Thanks, Illya." He gestured toward the train and gave Napoleon and Jim a look. "You two go in and get cleaned up. We'll be along shortly."

Jim nodded and said, "I'll see about getting dinner started." With that he headed into the train.

Napoleon gave a quick frown to their departing backs as Illya and Artie headed toward the stable car, but then decided he wanted to get clean too much to argue. He'd developed a new respect for public restrooms with their toilets and sinks with fresh flowing water and abundance of paper towels. Napoleon decided, if he ever got back, he would never complain about another one. 

Jim offered him first stab at the bathroom, and Napoleon gratefully accepted. He stank of horse and sweat, and longed to scrub off the memory of all those dead cows. His bath was faster than yesterday's because he kept imagining he was seeing bruises, or flaking skin, and despite his attempts he couldn't stop seeing the dead man from last night, or the dead animals from today, and wondering if that was what was in store for him and Illya.

Napoleon walked into the parlor after having washed up and saw Jim standing by the window. He was alone.

"Where are they?" It annoyed Napoleon that he could hear a note of apprehension in his voice.

"They haven't come back from taking care of the horses."

Napoleon thought he could hear a note of apprehension in Jim's voice as well. It made him feel nominally better. "Does it usually take this long?" He couldn't remember the last time he'd had to actually deal with unsaddling and brushing down a horse, but he was pretty sure it didn't take this long, even with four horses. Napoleon winced at the look Jim shot him. Obviously not the brightest of questions or maybe Jim was interpreting it as naiveté. It wasn't. It was a futile attempt at denial. He let out a sigh and, at Jim's suggestion, moved to pour himself a drink. He offered one to Jim.

Jim accepted. The two men took a few silent swallows, their eyes looking everywhere but at each other. Jim finished off his glass, and spoke, his eyes looking out the window. "Do you think it's wrong?"

Napoleon wished he didn't know what Jim was talking about it, but he did. "I don't know. I don't know anything anymore."

Jim turned to him, curiosity on his face. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that I've had so many woman tell me they love me over the years that you'd think I'd be impervious." He pointed in the general direction of the back of the train. "Then he tells me the same thing, and it's like my life's been turned inside out. I don't know what I think or feel about the whole thing." That same lash of fury suddenly heated Napoleon's body. "But I can tell you that it makes me angry."

Jim's eyebrows rose. "Angry? Why?"

Napoleon was nodding. "Yeah, angry. It makes me angry that he said it; it makes me angry that he feels that way about me. It makes me angry that I have to deal with it. And it makes me angry that he's back there with another man, and if he really loved me, then how--?" Napoleon finished off his drink in hopes it might shut him up. It didn't. It just loosened his tongue more. "If he really loves me the way he says he does, then how dare he be even thinking about touching another man? And the fact that I'm thinking that, let alone saying it, scares the hell out of me."

Jim stared at him, his eyebrows lifted. 

Napoleon snorted out a self-mocking laugh. "Jesus. I'm a basket case." He wanted out of the spotlight. "How about you? You think it's wrong?"

Jim thought about it for a minute while he poured them both new drinks. Then he shook his head. "No. I guess I believe that as long as it's not hurting anyone that people have the right to live their lives the way they see fit. As long--"

Napoleon flashed him a wry grin. "As long as it doesn't involve you?"

Jim nodded.

Napoleon gestured toward the back of the train with his drink. "And yet, unless I've missed my guess, you're not any happier about this than I am. Are you?"

Jim slugged his drink down. Then he shook his head. "No."

"Well, at least you have some time to work it through. I'm afraid we might be running out of ours."

"How do you know I have time? How do I know when some time portal to the future will open up and some blue-eyed, blond-haired Russian will show up who will make my partner realize that I'm not as good-looking, or charming, or skillful, or whatever the hell makes him want me, and make him decide that I'm not worth his time?" Jim let out a long sigh. "He'll leave me eventually. Just like Illya will leave you."

Napoleon scowled. 

Jim continued. "And why shouldn't he? Why shouldn't Artie leave me if I can't give him what he wants?"

"Are you sure you can't?"

Jim sent Napoleon a challenging glare. "Are you?"

* * *

Illya found a simple pleasure in brushing down the horses. They were so solid, and softly nuzzled his hair and chuffed at him as he went about his business. Artie hummed softly to himself as he took care of his and Jim's horses, and Illya found that comforting as well.

It had been a disturbing day. A disturbing few days. He felt as if he'd lost his equilibrium. He was grateful to Artie. Grateful for his presence, his camaraderie, his understanding.

Artie gave his horse an affectionate slap on its rear and replaced the stiff brush on the tack shelf. He began to dole out grain for the horses' dinners and grinned at Illya over his horse's head. "'The course of true love never did run smooth'."

Illya snorted and replaced his brush as well, and using the dipper from the larger trough, made sure all the horses had access to water. "More fitting perhaps is: 'Out, out, brief candle'."

Artie nodded knowingly. "Ah, Macbeth. One of my favorites." He struck a dramatic pose. "' Out, out, brief candle! Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more: it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.'" He glanced at Illya. "Is that how you feel?"

Illya shrugged. "I'm not sure how I feel."

Artie led the way out of the stable car and took Illya to his lab to continue the conversation. He poured them both a dram of his best whiskey he kept tucked away for special occasions. "You've faced death before, Illya. We all have. This can't be the first time you've been forced to evaluate the worth of your life."

Illya drank down the shot and held his glass out for more. "No, it's not."

Artie obliged him and refilled his glass. "So, has your life been full of sound and fury, signifying nothing? Even if you say it has, I don't think I'll choose to believe you."

Illya gave Artie a small grin. "Very kind of you." Illya picked up a small bowl of a yellow powder. He smelled it and grimaced, putting it down quickly, recognizing the smell of sulfur. He ignored Artie's grin at his expense. "I suppose my life has made a difference. Napoleon and I have saved many lives with the work that we do."

"And personally?"

Illya reached for the next bowl and gingerly brought it to his nose, taking a careful sniff. His brow furrowed, he took another sniff, and then raised questioning eyebrows to Artie.

"Crushed feverfew. It's an herb."

Illya looked at the contents again, and put it down. "What do you use it for?"

"It's good for bug bites."

Illya gave the green crushed leaves a respectful stare and put it down, then took in the abundance of jars of other herbs and powders. He reached for a jar labeled Gelsemium. "Isn't this poisonous?"

"Yes."

"Oh." Illya put the jar back. He answered the question asked earlier. "I think it would be judged lacking."

To Artie's credit, he picked right up on the conversation. "I don't know. That man in there seems very fond of you."

A soft smile took over Illya's face. "He is the best part of my life." The smile slipped away. "And the worst."

Artie poured them another drink. "What's the attraction?" He grinned. "I mean besides the handsome face and figure." Artie laughed. "After all, I have me a partner in the other room who meets that criterion too."

Illya smiled back. "Yes, you do. Quite nicely, too." He shook his head. "The attraction? I have no idea. He's infuriating."

Artie nodded his head in a knowing way. "So's mine."

"And too damn sure of himself."

"Yup."

"And always leaps before he looks."

"Always."

"He gets sidetracked by a pretty face."

"Could be talking about the same man."

"He's competitive."

"Very."

Illya was starting to enjoy himself. "He spends too much money on clothes."

Artie just snorted. "Uh huh."

Illya grew suddenly quiet.

Artie smiled at him. "And let me guess. He's saved your life more times than you can count, he's always there when you need him, and there's no one you'd rather have at your back, or in your life."

Illya nodded, staring disconsolately into his empty glass. He sighed and put it down on one of the counters. 

"Well, my friend, if I may repeat myself, 'the course of true love never did run smooth'."

"Or at all." Illya could feel his mood darkening.

Artie slapped him on the shoulder. "Illya, you and I are both stuck in the same pot of boiling water. And I'm sorry we've met under such inauspicious circumstances."

Illya pushed aside his despondent mood and smiled at Artie. "As am I." 

Artie smiled back, a hint of sadness in it. "I know the timing's not right, but I'd like to think that if circumstances were different, that in time, we might have found a new path for ourselves, maybe stopped pining away for something we're not likely to ever have."

Illya stepped closer to Artie and lightly touched his arm. "I think I would have liked that."

Artie ran his fingers gently down Illya's cheek. "I'll be sorry to see you go back home."

Illya wished for so many things at that moment. He wished he were back in New York; he wished he could stay. He wished it were Napoleon touching him; he wished his feelings for Napoleon would go away. He wished circumstances were different and he and Artie could take the time to see what might grow between them, and mostly, more than anything, he just wanted someone to hold him.

As if Artie had read his mind, the taller man's arms opened, and Illya stepped into them, his face buried in the crook of Artie's shoulder, their arms wrapped tightly around each other. They simply stood there for a long while, drinking in the other's support. It felt so uncomplicated. Just a need felt and a need met. 

Illya had no idea how long they stayed that way, but finally Artie pulled away. He gave Illya a shy smile. "Thank you. You have no idea how much I needed that."

Illya completely understood. "Me, too."

Artie patted himself on the stomach. "Well, I better go help Jim with dinner." As they both headed for the next car, Artie turned back. "We should go back into town tonight and ask some questions. Perhaps someone's seen something."

"I was thinking the same thing."

Artie grinned. "They've probably thought of it too by now. Great minds, after all." He let out a laugh, then stopped and sniffed the air. "Smells like James found time to get dinner started."

"Napoleon is a very good cook. Maybe he started dinner."

Artie opened the door and sniffed the air again, grinning appreciatively. "Illya, my boy, if I wasn't so miserably in love with my own partner, I might give you a run for your money."

Illya gave him a mock glare, and the two men walked into the small kitchen. Both Napoleon and Jim were in there. Illya watched as Napoleon ran his eyes over the two of them, his lips tight. 

Illya noticed that Jim didn't look any happier for all that he was lounging quite nonchalantly against the counter. "Artie, you've been replaced. Napoleon seems to be quite a chef in his own right."

Napoleon snorted. "Maybe in my own kitchen. Jim had to show me how to use all these antiques."

Artie gave him a friendly glower. "Antiques? I'll have you know that everything on this train is the newest and best that money can buy."

"Well, no promises on how well anything is going to come out."

Artie sniffed the air again and clapped Napoleon on the shoulder. "If it tastes as good as it smells, you'll get no complaints out of me."

Jim gave his partner an affectionate grin. "Artie, you'll eat anything. You might complain about it, but you'll eat it."

Artie pulled himself up to his full height. "I'm a growing boy, James."

Napoleon glanced at Illya. "We were talking about how we should go into town again. Ask if anyone's seen anything."

Illya nodded. "We talked about the same thing." He glanced down at himself, realized he was still covered with dust from the all-day ride. "I should go wash up."

Jim said, "Let me get you something clean to wear." He glanced at Artie. "I hope you don't mind, I helped myself to something for Napoleon."

Artie gave Napoleon a once over and grinned. "I don't mind at all. They look better on him than they do on me."

Napoleon grinned, and Illya rolled his eyes.

* * *

Dinner was a success. Their mission in town was not. They separated and hit every saloon in town, but they all got the same answers. No one knew of a new ranch. No one knew of any out-of-towners. A few had seen a bird brand here and there, but couldn't recall seeing a ranch. 

When they got back to the train Jim mapped out the locations of the dead cows that had been sighted, but there was no rhyme or reason to it. There didn't seem to be a preponderance of dead cows in any one spot. With little conversation, the decision was made to call it a night, as they needed to get up early the next day. 

Illya slept on the couch again, and the other three men retired to their rooms. An hour after they'd said their good nights, Napoleon made his way out of the guest room to the parlor. He softly called out, "Illya, are you awake?"

"Yes."

Napoleon took that as an invitation, and he sat down on the couch, after giving Illya time to shift his body back to allow room. "I can't sleep."

"Me either."

"I keep thinking about those men and those dead cows."

"I know. Me, too." 

"I don't want to die like that."

Illya tried to reassure him. "Maybe those men have been here for a while. Bill talked about how the men were making lists of the things they didn't like doing without. We have only been here for three days. Maybe we have some time before--." He didn't say the words, for which Napoleon was grateful. 

Napoleon swallowed against the lump of fear in his throat. There were so many conflicting emotions in his mind and body; he didn't know which ones to act on.

He glanced down to see Illya's eyes watching him. Napoleon thought of Illya with Artie and anger and jealousy coiled in twin misery in his gut. Illya was his, damn it. That thought was followed by a sense of confusion as he tried to grapple with what that meant, what it implied, what it might ask of him.

He focused back in on Illya and saw how carefully schooled the Russian's face was, giving nothing away. Napoleon wondered how much of what he was thinking had just flashed across his own face.

Deciding to give in to his most basic need at the moment he gave Illya a tight smile. "Illya, I know I have no business asking you this in light of what happened back--" Napoleon thought for a second, letting out a sharp laugh. Back when? Back a few days that now felt like years? Back in their own time and their own city? Back when Napoleon's biggest crisis was that his partner loved him?

He tried again. "I don't want to be alone." Underneath all the confusion lay his trust for his partner, and the knowledge that here was where he needed to be.

Illya gave him a long searching look and then nodded. "Neither do I." He tugged at the blankets until Napoleon was obliged to stand. Illya pulled them back and patted the sofa. "Lie down."

Despite it being what he asked for, Napoleon felt a contrary moment of panic. "Here?"

Illya let out a soft laugh. "Don't worry, your virtue is safe with me. But we need to sleep, so we either sleep here, or we sleep in your bed."

The idea of sleeping together in a bed felt too sexual to Napoleon. Besides, his contradictory mind told him, if they slept here, he'd have more of an excuse to be physically closer to Illya. Before he could think better of it, Napoleon arranged himself on the sofa, lying rigidly on his back.

Illya snorted and pushed at him until he rolled over on his side, his back to Illya's chest. "We'll fit better this way."

Napoleon blew out a long breath. He dared to shift a couple of inches back until he wasn't lying right on the edge of the sofa.

He felt Illya shifting a little and then a cautious arm snaked around him, landing over his chest. Illya whispered, "Is this all right?"

Now that the act was done, Napoleon felt a raw joy to be this close to Illya. He nodded. "Very all right." He found Illya's hand and gave it a squeeze. "Thanks, partner."

Illya squeezed his hand back in response.

While the sensation of sleeping this closely to Illya when their lives weren't dependant on it felt odd, it also felt good. Feeling as if he were exactly where he belonged, Napoleon closed his eyes, and with his body nestled against Illya's, his breathing began to match the rise and fall of the chest behind him and he was soothed into sleep.

* * *

Jim woke from a nightmare. He ran a hand over his face, swinging his legs out of bed to sit on the side. They were going to have a hard day tomorrow, and he needed to get some sleep. But even now that he was awake, the uneasiness of the last dream stayed with him. 

He rose and slipped on a pair of trousers and his boots. Quietly he left his room and moved to the kitchen. Maybe eating something would settle him down. A sound from the parlor caught his attention and he silently crossed the room to make sure Illya was all right.

He went very still when he realized that Napoleon was with Illya and they were both fast asleep. Napoleon was sleeping on his back. Illya was on his side, his head on Napoleon's shoulder. They were wrapped in each other's arms. 

Jim was arrested by the sight. They looked so right together. There was nothing unnatural about it. Granted they were sleeping, but Jim could imagine Illya opening his eyes and moving his head back, Napoleon leaning down, closing the few inches that separated them, and having their lips meet in a kiss. 

He could see it in his mind's eye and was surprised to find that he wasn't put off by it at all. In fact, he found the thought of it appealing, erotic. He almost wished they would wake up and touch each other.

Jim realized he had no idea what had prompted Napoleon out here to his partner. It might be completely innocent. Two friends consoling each other after a rough day. He looked again at their bodies, all the places they were touching, the looks on their faces even in the midst of sleep. As if something deep inside knew they were right where they were supposed to be. Finally.

He thought of Artie. Wondered what Artie would think about Illya being here with Napoleon. Wondered if he would be sad about it. Jim didn't want Artie to be sad about it. He didn't want Artie wanting Illya. He didn't want him wanting anyone. The thought flashed through his mind that he and Artie were this familiar, that it could be he and Artie on the couch, lying this close, touching.

A hand landed on his shoulder and Jim barely kept from jumping. The unexpected touch had startled the hell out of him, even if he had almost immediately recognized his partner's presence.

It was Artie, whispering softly, "Everything all right?"

  
Jim nodded and pointed at the two men on the couch. As they both watched, Napoleon and Illya shifted. Illya turned to face the back of the couch, and Napoleon turned with him until he was spooned up tightly behind the smaller man, his arm and leg swinging over him to hold him captive.

Jim thought Illya was going to wake up, but he just mumbled a little and snuggled back against Napoleon, a small smile on his face. Jim glanced at Artie, wanting to know how he was taking this. 

Artie wasn't giving much away. He was a consummate poker player, and Jim knew he was lucky that Artie rarely felt the need to keep his feelings hidden. Jim frowned, as he realized that actually, Artie had been keeping a lot hidden. 

The blanket started to slip off the men, and Artie moved forward and tucked it gently around the sleeping forms. He hesitated for a moment, and Jim watched Artie, as if he were giving in to a compulsion, touch a few strands of Illya's hair. It made Jim's chest hurt to watch it. 

He turned and headed for the front door, needing some air. He was both relieved and anxious when Artie followed him out. Jim took the cheroot Artie offered him, lit it and took a drag, walked toward the low fencing that went around the Dallas train station and rested one foot on it. It was late, and the station looked deserted.

Artie sat on the top rail, lighting his own cheroot, his feet balanced on the bottom rail. 

Jim could feel his partner's eyes resting on him. It seemed a night for unusual conversations. "Does that bother you?"

Artie gave him a small smile. "No." There was a brief pause. "Yes. No." Artie let out a short laugh and then a sigh.

"That was clear as mud."

"Maybe if I knew exactly what you were asking, I'd have an easier time answering."

Jim considered his partner, felt a painful tightening in his gut when he wondered about that yes, sandwiched between the no's. "Does it bother you to see them like that?"

Artie took a moment to answer, and when he did his answer was cautious. "You mean, two men?"

Jim shook his head. "No, Illya with Napoleon."

Artie took a last drag and dropped the cheroot to the ground. "I think I'll stick to my original answer." He lowered his boot and ground out the remains.

"Why yes and no?"

Artie gave Jim a look accompanied by a furrowed brow. "Why are we having this conversation, Jim? Don't you find the whole subject distasteful?"

Jim's heart beat a little harder, as he tried to decide just what he was hoping to accomplish. He shook his head. "They looked good together."

A small smile graced Artie's face. "They did, didn't they?" 

Jim took a step closer to his partner. "I'm just sorry--" He hesitated, feeling more awkward than he had in years.

"Sorry about what?"

He made a gesture toward the train. "You and--you and Illya." He almost stumbled over the name, truly not sorry at all. 

This time Artie's eyebrows were raised high. "Me and Illya? Is that what this is about? You think Illya and I--?"

Jim kept his voice calm even though a part of him wanted to accuse. "Weren't you?"

Artie let out a half laugh. "No, Jim, we weren't." This time he pointed at the train. "That's where he belongs."

"So why the yes with the no?"

"I still want to know why we're having this conversation." When Jim didn't answer Artie turned toward him. "Why, Jim? What are you digging for?" His voice grew tense and a little angry. "Are you trying to ferret out whether I'm an invert or not? Why don't you just ask me the damn question instead of beating around the bush, hiding behind polite conversation?"

"I don't need to ask that question, Artie. I figured it out the other morning." He dropped his cheroot, and ground it beneath his boot. "I'm asking about you and Illya. Because it sure looked like you were both interested."

"And you think that this is your business because--"

"Damn it, Artie. You've never been shy discussing your latest flames with me. For God's sakes, I proposed to Lily for you. And what the hell was that about? She's a woman."

Artie shot Jim an angry glance. "I'm well aware of that fact. I like women just fine. And Lily was one of the finest."

"So you're not an invert?"

"Ah, the question comes out at last." Artie blew out a breath, and sat back on the rail.

Jim wondered if he'd get an honest answer, wondered if he'd be able to tell the difference between a lie and the truth.

"By preference, I suppose I am." He shot Jim a sidelong glance. "Does that disturb you?"

Jim let out a short laugh. "No. It doesn't. But it surprised the hell out of me the other morning."

"But something's got you bothered."

"You and Illya."

Artie's eyebrows rose again. "There was never a 'me and Illya', Jim. I like the man. We share some common interests, and a way of looking at the world." 

"Are you sure?"

Artie frowned at Jim. "I don't understand why it matters to you."

"Are you sure?"

Artie sighed. "Yes, I'm sure."

"So why the yes with the no?"

Artie blew out a frustrated breath. "I don't know. Maybe because if circumstances were different, there might be a me and Illya."

"What sort of different circumstances?"

"You mean other than the fact that he's a hundred years from the future, and if we don't help them find a way back he'll be dead in a few days?"

"Yeah."

"Those are pretty compelling circumstances all on their own." He shot Jim a warning look and stood. "Just leave it alone, Jim. He's where he's supposed to be and I'm glad for him." Artie turned away from Jim and lit another cheroot.

Jim didn't want to leave it alone. It was like a mosquito bite, and he couldn't leave off scratching it. He managed to keep his mouth shut and found his eyes running down the length of Artie's body. Artie had gotten dressed before he'd gone out to the living room, or maybe he'd never gotten undressed.

He was wearing dark trousers and a light-colored shirt. Jim's eyes took in the long strong thighs, the height and solidness of his partner. He felt a powerful swell of longing that outstripped his fear of the thought of touching another man. 

Jim walked over to Artie until he stood just behind him. "Artie, I--I don't know if I can do this. I don't even know if I can finish what I'm suggesting we start. I'm not even sure I know what the hell I'm doing."

Artie turned to Jim, amazement coupled with wariness in his eyes. His voice was little more than a whisper. "What are you talking about?"

"You and me, Artie. You and me."

Artie lifted a hand as if he were going to touch Jim's arm, then lowered it. The wariness in his eyes was growing. "What I heard were a lot of excuses for something you haven't even done yet."

Jim smiled tightly. "This is pretty new terrain for me."

"So why start now? You and the ladies get along fine. Why throw me in the mix?" The wariness was now in his voice as well.

"I don't want to lose you, Artie."

"Why do you think you're going to lose me?"

"Because I said no. Because sooner or later you'll find someone who says yes, and you'll leave me for them."

"So now you're saying yes? You've just decided to offer up your body to get me to stay?" Now the tone was incredulous.

Jim wrapped his fingers around Artie's arm. "All I want to do is try to give you what you want."

"And you think that what I want is a sacrifice? No thanks, Jim. I'll pass." He viciously ground out the cheroot under the heel of his boot. "We'd better go in. Sunrise isn't far off."

Jim tightened his hold on his partner's arm. "Artie."

"I said I'll pass." Artie looked down at Jim, and pulled his arm away from Jim's grasp. "I wasn't planning on leaving, Jim. I always thought my place was with you."

"It is. But you want more. And I want to--"

"Want to what, Jim? You've never even looked at a man that way, let alone me. And suddenly I'm supposed to think that I'm the one you want? Is this supposed to be a one-time fling that salves your conscience and keeps me on a close leash?"

Stung, Jim took a step backward. "That's not fair. That's not what I was suggesting."

Artie blew out a long breath. "Look, it's late. I need to get some sleep."

Jim just nodded, momentarily lost at the wrong turn the conversation had taken. He watched as Artie entered the train, leaving him behind. He sat on the rail and rubbed his face with his hands, wishing he could set the clock back to that morning when Artie kissed him. What he wasn't sure about was, if he had the chance to live it over, if he'd wake up before Artie kissed him so he could roll the other way to keep it from happening, or if he'd kiss Artie back.

* * *

Illya woke up and at first couldn't remember why he was so warm, or why he had arms wrapped around him. Then he remembered, and smiled. Granted, nothing had happened, Napoleon hadn't suggested that he wanted anything more than a place to sleep, but it was so much more than he'd expected after the virulent rejection of that previous night. 

He was tempted to just stay there, enjoying the feel of Napoleon's arms around him, pretending that it meant all he wanted it to mean. But fear of finding a look of embarrassment on his partner's face when he woke up forced him up. He didn't think he could stand that. Illya extricated himself from the arms and leg entangled with his and quickly dressed.

He moved to the kitchen and began pulling out food for their ride today. Jerky, some dried fruit, a loaf of bread. Illya secured it in the cheesecloth Artie had used yesterday and then stored them in a satchel. By the time he was done, Napoleon walked in.

The two men stared at each other for a few seconds, while Illya's heart beat out a tattoo in his chest. Then Napoleon crossed the kitchen area until he was standing right in front of him. It was all Illya could do not to reach up and kiss the man senseless, but he didn't want to assume anything, didn't want to have his heart ripped out again.

Napoleon rested a hand on his shoulder. "How'd you sleep?"

"Better than I have in a long time."

Napoleon's smile was soft. "Me, too."

The two men stared at each other and for one world-tilting moment, Illya thought Napoleon might lean in and kiss him, but then Jim walked in.

His face was cut from stone this morning, and Illya and Napoleon exchanged glances. Napoleon was the first to speak. "Want some coffee?"

Jim gave him a terse shake of the head. "No, we better get going."

Illya pointed toward the satchel. "I already prepared food for the ride."

Jim nodded and left to head down the hall. He pounded on Artie's door. "Get up." His footsteps continued down the hall to the bathroom.

Illya and Napoleon exchanged another glance. Napoleon whispered, "What happened?"

Illya shook his head. "I don't know." He hoped the fact that he and Napoleon had slept together hadn't created a problem.

Artie appeared a minute later, his face a study in misery. Illya moved to Artie, grabbed his arm and, ignoring Napoleon's frown, said, "We'll get the horses ready."

There was little Napoleon could say to argue, much as he wanted to, so he stayed in the kitchen, waiting. When Jim walked in, Napoleon jumped right in. "Everything all right?"

"Fine."

"Uh huh."

"What's that supposed to mean?" The words were snapped out in anger.

Napoleon put his hands up in defense. "Nothing." He turned to the counter and reached for the breadbox. Opening it, he pulled out the half of a loaf left over from last night's dinner. Moving to the icebox, he reached for the marmalade.

As he cut a slice of bread he said, "It just seems that you're angry about something this morning."

Jim was strapping on his holster. "It's nothing."

Napoleon nodded as he took a bite of bread. "Something happen between you and Artemus?"

Jim shot him a vicious look, slamming his hand down on the counter. "I said it was nothing."

Napoleon was taken aback by the look. For the first time since he met Jim, he saw the agent, the lethalness of him, the fact that he would be a dangerous man to have as an enemy. Napoleon decided to drop the subject and hoped Illya was having better luck.

* * *

Illya stayed silent at first as they saddled the horses, respecting Artie's mood. Finally he spoke. "What happened?"

Artie scowled.

Illya shot him a worried look. "Was it because Napoleon and I--?"

Artie shook his head. "No." He looked over at Illya. "I'm glad for you."

Illya shrugged. "It may not mean anything."

Artie managed a grin. "It looked like a step in the right direction."

Illya could feel his face heat. He made himself busy putting the bridle on his horse. After a minute he emerged. "Artemus, what happened?"

Artie rested his face against the neck of his horse, his fingers nervously combing the thick mane. "Jim decided to offer himself as a sacrifice last night."

Illya's eyebrows rose. "What?" His voice practically squeaked.

Artie sighed and rubbed around his horse's ears. "He got some crazy idea that I was planning on leaving him and decided that sex would get me to stay."

Illya's eyebrows rose even higher. "And you said no?"

"Of course I said no. I'm not so desperate that I need his pity."

Illya glared at Artie. "You are a very stupid man."

Artie glared right back. "You weren't there. He couldn't even bring himself to touch me. He just talked about it like an experiment that was sure to fail."

"Which you made sure of."

Artie's lips tightened. He lifted up a second saddle and threw it on the back of Jim's horse. "He didn't know what the hell he was doing."

Illya rolled his eyes. "A man like Jim? You think he didn't know exactly what he was doing when he offered?"

Artie let out a groan and tightened the cinch of the saddle. "I'm not what he would choose."

"It sounds like he did choose you."

Artie shook his head. "It was for the wrong reason."

"Again I say that you are a very stupid man." Illya saddled Napoleon's horse. "Why was it the wrong reason? Why is it wrong that he'd be willing to do what it took to keep you at his side?"

"I wasn't planning on leaving him. He's my partner and my friend. He doesn't need to do this."

"Maybe not, but he obviously wanted to, and my guess is he did it because he wants you to be happy."

"By choosing to be an invert?"

The word threw Illya for a second, but he figured it out. "Why does it have to mean that? It sounds like all he was choosing is you. Artemus, everyone leaves sooner or later, except the ones we choose to hold on to, and that choice always involves some sacrifice and compromise. It's a fact of life." Illya chose not to mention that until Napoleon he never felt the sacrifice was worth it. But there wasn't anything he wouldn't do for Napoleon. Including loving him from afar, if that was what Napoleon demanded. 

Artie slipped a bridle on Jim's horse, easing the bit into its mouth. He shot Illya a miserable look and grabbed one set of reins and began to walk the horse down the ramp. Illya followed suit, and in a few minutes they had all four horses out of the train. 

Illya asked again, "Why does this have to be a bad thing?"

Artie shook his head, face downcast.

Illya grew impatient. "So, let's recap the night's events. The man you love, and who probably loves you, made a pass at you, and you completely rejected him. Does that about sum it up?" The memory of Napoleon's rejection was still a raw wound, and he'd be damned if he'd let it happen needlessly to Jim, considering how Artie felt about him.

Artie let out a frustrated groan and hung his head.

Illya forced his chin up. "Go talk to him. Go tell him you were stupid. If you don't, you may never have another chance. Are you willing to risk that?"

Artie's face was now a study in misery.

Illya tied the horses to the rail. "I will take Napoleon to the Inn and get some coffee. Join us when you two are talking to each other again."

"We don't have time for this. We have to go find your Thrush villains."

"You don't need to take all day about it, but the last thing I want to do is spend the day with you and Jim like this." He grabbed Artie's arm, trying to turn him in the right direction. "Go. Fix this."

Artie glanced back at the train and then looked at Illya, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Napoleon is glaring at me. I think you have some fixing to do as well."

Illya turned to see that Napoleon was indeed glaring. He let go of Artie's arm. "I will take care of Napoleon. You go take care of Jim." He sent Artie a saucy grin. "I suggest you show him that his sacrifice will not be without its rewards." With that, Illya walked over to Napoleon. 

Napoleon frowned as he watched Artie walk slowly to the train. "What was that about?"

Illya flashed him a grin. "He is going to tell Jim how stupid he is."

Napoleon looked puzzled. "Why is Jim stupid?"

Illya shook his head. "Not Jim. Artemus. Artemus is stupid."

Napoleon nodded as if that explained everything. "Ah."

Illya took his arm. "We are going to go get coffee."

Napoleon looked down at the fingers surrounding his arm. "So you and he--?"

"Please do not be stupid as well, Napoleon. There is no he and I."

Napoleon covered Illya's hand with one of his. "Then what is there?"

Illya closed his eyes for a second, enjoying the sensation of even this simple touch. Then he opened his eyes and found himself looking into affectionate brown ones. Despite the open affection, Illya's answer was cautious. "That depends entirely on you."

Napoleon gave him one of his grins that always made Illya's heart skip a beat. He lifted his arm and slung it around Illya's shoulder. "Let's go get some coffee, tovarisch." 

* * *

Jim cursed himself for being a coward, but he didn't want to leave the train. He didn't want to face Artie, and he certainly didn't want to see Illya and Napoleon looking happy together; it was like a slap in the face. He gave himself another stern talking to, but found himself no closer to the door.

He heard footsteps outside the train and before he could leave the room, Artie was inside and shutting the door behind him. Jim schooled his face into what he hoped was a look of disinterest, and began to shrug into his jacket. "We ready to go?"

Artie slapped his hat a few times against his leg, and said, "I'm sorry, Jim. I'm sorry about last night."

Jim shook his head tersely. "It doesn't matter."

"It does matter. I had no right to say the things I said."

"Consider it forgotten." Jim was pleased at how calm his voice sounded. The rejection last night had left him reeling. He had never realized how much he had come to depend on Artie's constant support. To be summarily dismissed by the man had been shockingly heart wrenching, especially after exposing himself the way he had. It had honestly never crossed his mind that Artie would say no, let alone so hostilely. He picked up his hat. "Let's go."

"Jim."

"I said, let's go." He headed for the door, which took him right by Artie. He had every intention of passing him by, but at the last minute he lifted his eyes to look into the eyes of his friend, desperately hoping to see the usual humor there, to know that he hadn't destroyed their friendship, their partnership, that things could at least go back to the way they were.

What he saw were eyes that told him that Artie was hurting as much as he was, and it stopped him in his tracks. Artie reached out a hand and touched his cheek. He whispered Jim's name so softly he could hardly hear it. But it pulled him in as if it had the force of gravity.

Artie's large palm cupped the side of his face, and Jim's heart was beating so quickly it made it hard to draw in a breath. He couldn't believe this was about to happen and a part of him wanted to run in the other direction. But the larger part of him, the part that had recently discovered that Artie was indispensable to him, couldn't have left if his life depended on it.

Then he felt Artie's soft lips on his. He had expected the kiss to be gentle, like the kiss of the other morning, but it wasn't. It was arousingly passionate, Artie's tongue demanding entrance, insisting on full and immediate participation. Jim had never been kissed like this. Never. All he could do was submit with a groan of disbelief.

His fingers found their way into Artie's hair. He let his head drop to the side as Artie pressed kisses on his cheek, his chin, his jaw. "Jim, Jim, I love you so damn much."

The words were like a verbal aphrodisiac and Jim's control went up in flames. He found himself kissing Artie, staking his own territory, demanding his own entrance into the warmth of his partner's mouth. His left leg wrapped around Artie's thigh, pulling him closer. A sense of delight crossed his mind as he realized that he didn't have to worry about hurting Artie, that he didn't have to hold back his strength, that Artie could take anything he dished out.

Strong hands roamed down his back, and then moved lower to squeeze his ass. Artie's touch assailed his senses. He wanted more of it, and he wanted it now. To his dismay the hands left his ass and moved to his shoulders. "Jim, we can't do this now."

Jim didn't want to listen; a rabid flame of desire was licking through his body. How had he not seen this? How had he been so blind to what had been in front of him all this time? "Don't stop."

Artie let out a pained laugh. "Trust me, I don't want to, but we have to. We have to go help Illya and Napoleon. If we don't leave right now, we won't be going anywhere."

The facts of the day came crashing down, sobering Jim. He lifted dazed eyes to his partner, astonished he had lost so much control. What he saw in the dark eyes was boundless love and desire staring back at him. To avoid the pull of those eyes, Jim rested his forehead on Artie's chest, trying to catch his breath.

Artie ran his hands slowly up and down Jim's back. Jim was glad to hear that Artie's breathing was heavy as well. 

"Do you forgive me, Jim?"

Jim let out a short laugh. "Damn, Artie." He lifted his face from Artie's chest and found Artie's lips too close to ignore. He reached up for another kiss.

Artie pressed his hips in closer, and Jim could feel Artie's hard erection. That gave him pause for a moment. He was kissing a man. What would follow would be making love to a man. He found the whole thing hard to believe until he changed the sentence in his mind to making love to Artie. He could love Artie. He already did love Artie. And Artie loved him. 

Jim smiled at his partner, taking great pleasure in the slight gasp that came from the man. He planned to thoroughly enjoy flashing that smile at Artie at inappropriate times. But right now, it was time to go. "You ready?"

Artie pressed against him again. "In more ways than one."

Jim let out a strained laugh and stepped away from his partner. 

* * *

Napoleon nudged his partner. "Here they come."

Illya looked at the two men and smiled. 

Napoleon watched as the two men approached. The look on the younger man's face made Napoleon believe that Jim had discovered he could give Artie exactly what he wanted.

Suddenly Napoleon wanted to get going. They had to find Thrush so he and Illya could go home. He had no intention of dying here; he needed time to work things through with Illya.

Napoleon pulled out his wallet and then realized that he had no money he could use here. Jim walked in the door. Napoleon looked for Artie, but Artie was walking back to the train. Jim followed his eyes. "He went to get the horses."

Illya headed for the door. "I'll go help him." Before Napoleon could reply, Illya was sprinting after Artie.

That left Napoleon and Jim, and Napoleon had no idea what to say. So he smiled sheepishly and pointed at the table, at the cups of coffee and plate of buns. "I'm sorry. I don't have any money."

Jim snorted. "Likely story." But he threw some silver coins on the table, grabbed the last two buns and, with a jerk of his head and a grin on his face, gestured for Napoleon to follow him. 

* * *

Napoleon found himself captivated by the company he was keeping. He spent his time, when he wasn't chasing down cows, looking between Artie and Jim, and his partner. 

Artie and Jim were certainly behaving very circumspectly, but it was as if a cord connected them. Every time Napoleon saw them look at each other or come near each other, he could almost see the connection. They were both letting off sparks. 

Napoleon found it stimulating. Fascinating. Other than Illya, the only homosexuals he'd ever knowingly run across had been effeminate caricatures that had made him acutely uncomfortable. But there was nothing effeminate about these men. It was slowly dawning on him that love was love, regardless of who was doing the loving and who was being loved. 

It made the changes he was contemplating go down a little easier. He tore his eyes off of the two men and turned his gaze back to his partner. Napoleon was looking at him with a new set of eyes this morning. He couldn't help but observe how the sunlight reflected off the golden mop of hair, or how Illya's blue eyes were giving the sky a run for its money.

He also couldn't help but notice Illya's gracefulness on his horse, the shape of his ass on the saddle, and the strong thighs hugging the horse's flanks. Napoleon felt as if blinders had been removed. Especially when he began to realize that this wasn't the first time he'd had these thoughts about his partner.

But it was the first time he'd allowed himself the freedom to think these thoughts. All those other times Napoleon had looked at Illya and been attracted, he'd shoved those feelings down as far as he could, appalled at himself, terrified at what they meant. 

It occurred to Napoleon that this had been the source of his anger when Illya had first spoken of his feelings. For that split second he'd seen what he'd have to face. What he'd have to take out of its hiding hole deep in his psyche and deal with, and it had been more than he could cope with. So he'd lashed out and almost destroyed everything.

But now the cat was out of the bag, and there was no shoving it back in. Napoleon wasn't sure he was ready to embrace homosexuality as a lifestyle, but he was willing to take a look at it, to consider it without running away in shame. At least he was if it was Illya he'd be working it through with. 

He thought about how it had felt to wake up in the night and find himself draped over Illya. In the past, too much of the time, all of the time if he were to be completely honest, when he woke up in the middle of the night draped over someone, he'd look at the clock and hope it was close to morning, so he could get up and move on. But last night, he'd taken a deep breath, smelled the scent of his partner, and hadn't wanted the night to end. 

As much as he wanted to get home, he wished they could have a few days to themselves before getting thrown back into another mission at U.N.C.L.E.. Napoleon was afraid that the hell-bent pace of their normal lives would sweep this all away, and he'd end up having to shove all these newly discovered feelings deep down inside again and slowly watch Illya drift away.

Just the thought of that made Napoleon's gut clench, made him determined he would not allow that to happen. Somehow they'd find the time to talk and, if it was what they both wanted, find a way to let this connection between them to grow.

* * *

Jim watched Napoleon watch Illya. But it wasn't long before his eyes made their way back to Artie. That had been one hell of a kiss. One hell of a kiss. He shifted in his saddle and willed the blood away from his penis, as getting an erection while in the saddle was not a particularly pleasant experience.

But it was hard to think of anything else but that kiss and the strength and solidness of Artie's body. Jim liked to be near Artie. He always had. And he enjoyed sleeping near him. It was one of the things he loved best about their camping out. Laying his bedroll next to Artie's, settling down in the light and crackle of the fire, looking forward to the stories Artie would tell, the sound of his voice, the heartiness of his laugh.

His thoughts strayed again to their guests from the future and they rested there somewhat uncomfortably. It was still hard to wrap his arms around the whole idea of it. A sudden thought struck from out of nowhere about their most persistent nemesis. He prodded his horse over to Artie's. "I just thought of something."

Artie gave him a look that caused a flush to heat his face. Appalled at the way his body was betraying him, Jim clenched his jaw. When he saw a worried look cross Artie's face, he reached out and touched his arm. "Nothing's wrong. It's just me. I'm just, ah, I'm not used to feeling this way when I'm around you."

Artie gave him a smile that was so filled with love that Jim felt it like a blaze of sunshine. "Welcome to the club, James." They stared at each other for a minute and then Artie got back to business. "What did you want to tell me? You came over here saying you'd just thought of something."

Jim had to think for a few seconds. "Right. I was just thinking that Napoleon and Illya are living proof that none of Loveless' crazy plans to destroy the world ever work."

Artie gave Jim a satisfied smile. "Now that's a pleasant thought. It's nice to think that we keep one step ahead of the little doctor."

Jim smiled back. It was a fine thought. As he opened his mouth to speak, he saw something out of the corner of his eye. He slapped the reins and got his horse moving. He could hear the other three men fall in behind him.

* * *

It was a fence. A fence that was keeping in cows with a Thrush brand. Illya was dizzy with relief. They were as good as home. Now that they had a location, all they had to do was get inside, overpower the Thrush agents, retrieve the gadget, figure out how it worked, and go home. That was easy. That they did on almost every mission.

He could almost see the New York City skyline. He missed it, something he never would have imagined before now. He missed so many things, his apartment, easy transportation, hot showers whenever he wanted, his books, jazz clubs, museums, and free concerts at the park. And the restaurants: Greek, Hungarian, Italian, Russian, Vietnamese, French, and all within walking distance of his home.

He was spoiled. He knew it. For all he objected to American decadence, he embraced it. And he wanted it back. As long as it came with Napoleon. Illya knew he wouldn't enjoy any of it half as much if he didn't experience it with his partner. He glanced at Napoleon only to find the dark eyes already looking at him.

His stomach did flip-flops, and he couldn't seem to tear his eyes away. Napoleon moved his horse closer until they were side by side. "I can almost taste the hotdogs on 46th and Park," Napoleon quipped.

Illya grinned at him. It seemed as if he and Napoleon were thinking along the same lines. He pointed toward the butte directly ahead of them. "I think I'll climb up there and see if I can spot their headquarters." 

"What some company?"

Illya stomach did flip-flops again. He sternly told his body to behave. As much as he did want Napoleon's company, he decided it would not be a good idea. He shook his head. "You will distract me." Napoleon gave him a slow smile that almost made his blood boil. "You will most definitely distract me." Without further conversation, thinking that Napoleon's smile should be registered as a lethal weapon, Illya headed for the butte.

He was only able to ride the horse part way. He dismounted and left it free to graze. As he got out of visual range he heard his horse let out a nervous whinny. Illya stilled and listened, but didn't hear anything out of place. After a few seconds, he restarted his climb.

As he neared the top, the hairs on the back of his neck rose. Rubbing his neck, he looked around, searching for the source of his anxiety. He could swear something was watching him. "Napoleon?" he whispered loudly.

There was no answer. Obviously, if Napoleon had chosen to follow him, he didn't want his presence known. Illya listened for another few seconds and then decided to press on. The sooner he got to the top, the sooner he could go back down.

* * *

Artie looked more closely at the cows. They were alive, but none of them were well. They were listless, eyes glassy, tongues distended. Some of them had traces of blood on their anuses, and many were not even making the effort to swish their tails to keep the flies away.

Artie was very relieved they had found the fence. And while they might still be looking at hours of riding as these fences could go on for miles, at least they knew they were in the right neighborhood. As he looked at the cows again, he knew the last thing he wanted was to see his new friends die like this.

He watched Jim slowly walk his horse along the fence. He sat steady in the saddle, his body a picture of determination. Jim always gave everything his all. There were no half-ways with his partner. Artie wondered what it would feel like to have that intense focus on him, on his body, on his pleasure.

Artie felt his groin grow heavy, and he shifted in the saddle. He found his thoughts moving to the kiss on the train. Jim's response had overwhelmed him. He still couldn't believe he'd managed to stop. Most of him had been crying out for completion, and if Jim had failed to respond to his plea to stop, Artie would have thrown him down on the floor and Jim would have had his first experience of male-to-male loving on the parlor rug.

  
Jim deserved so much more than that. He deserved candlelight, and classical music, and a soft bed and softer sheets. Artie laughed to himself. Based on Jim's willing participation in that kiss, Artie guessed that his partner would have been perfectly happy to end up on the floor. 

His horse gave a nervous nicker, and sidestepped. Then Artie got a whiff of a bad smell. Assuming it was another dead cow, Artie dismounted, seeing no need to force his horse any closer to the smell of death. He made his way through the shrubs and found the dead cow.

Artie was momentarily sure that she'd died like all the other cows, but then he saw the paw prints and realized the blood came from the cow's savaged throat.

Napoleon moved behind him. "What is it?"

"Mountain lion." Artie crouched down and pointed toward a paw print. "Big one. They go for the throat."

Napoleon crouched down next to him. "There're mountain lions out here?"

Artie nodded. "This is mountain lion country." He cocked his head to the side and reached out a hand to touch the cow. "She's still warm. This just happened. We must have scared him away."

Napoleon glanced up at the butte. "Do they attack humans? Illya's up there."

Artie nodded, his lips tight. "Not that often, but it can happen. And this cat's got its appetite all worked up. We interrupted its meal." He stood, cupping his hands around his mouth. "Illya!"

He and Napoleon exchanged a nervous look, when there was no answer. Then they heard him yell back. "What?"

Napoleon grinned. "I'll go up and get him."

Artie nodded. "Make a lot of noise as you go."

Napoleon considered him for a moment. "What do you suggest?"

"Sing."

Napoleon barked out a laugh. "Music soothes the savage breast, hmm?"

"Something like that."

Napoleon turned to get his horse when they heard Illya let out a chilling cry.

As the three men bolted for their horses, they heard another pained and ferociously angry cry and then the sound of a gun being fired. By then, they were mounted and galloping up the butte.

They ran across Illya's horse as she was making a desperate effort to get down the hill. Jim caught her reins and pulled her alongside his horse, bringing her with them.

As they rode, Napoleon called out for Illya, his face growing grimmer as there continued to be no answer. As they neared the top, they had to dismount. Jim gestured for the men to let the horses roam. "If there are more mountain lions in the area, I don't want them tied up."

Napoleon nodded, dropping his reins. He called out again. "Illya?" 

Still no answer. Then he rounded the corner and his heart felt as if it might batter its way out of his body. Illya was on the ground with a mountain lion lying atop him and there was blood everywhere.

Artie got there first and, after ascertaining that the lion was dead, got Jim to help him push it off of Illya's body. Then Artie felt for a pulse. He looked up at Napoleon and nodded, a weak smile on his face. "He's alive." 

Napoleon felt lightheaded for a moment. "Is that blood all his?" He couldn't imagine Illya staying alive long if all that blood belonged to him. Napoleon knelt by Illya's side, watching Artie check out his partner.

Artie gestured to the gun on the ground. "It looks like Illya shot her at close range, so I think most of this blood is hers, but she tore him up pretty good before she died." 

Napoleon could see that now, now that his brain was working again. Now that he knew Illya wasn't dead. "How bad is it?" 

Artie scowled as he pushed Illya's shirt to the side to show several scratches on his chest. The shirt was in tatters. Napoleon saw blood pooling under Illya's left shoulder and he did some exploring of his own, moving the remaining scraps of his shirt off of him. "It looks like she bit him here."

Artie nodded. "He's lucky. She was going for his throat." 

Napoleon swallowed. She hadn't been off by much. Just a couple of inches and he might be staring down at Illya's dead body. It didn't even bear thinking about. As both sets of eyes traveled down Illya's body, he took in the scratches on Illya's thighs where the cat's hind claws must have landed as she attacked. 

Illya stirred. "Napoleon."

"Right here, my friend. Right here."

"I could see it."

Napoleon shook his head, confused. "See what?" He hoped it wasn't a white light.

"The house."

Napoleon looked up at Jim. Jim nodded and headed up to the top of the butte. Napoleon caught a second scowl on Artie's face. "What is it?"

"I don't like the looks of these. Cat scratches are dirty. We need to get him cleaned up."

"Can't you just start him on some antibiotics?" Napoleon couldn't imagine cat scratches, even big cat scratches, were that much of a big deal.

"Anti whats?"

With a sense of dismay, Napoleon suddenly remembered. There were no antibiotics. No modern medicine. No U.N.C.L.E. infirmary to take Illya to, and know he was in good hands. It was even more imperative now that he get Illya home. Napoleon glanced up hopefully as Jim made his way down.

Jim pointed due west. "It's a few miles that way."

Artie nodded decisively. "I'll take him back to the train. You two go track down this gadget." Napoleon's unhappiness with the decision must have communicated itself loud and clear because Artie put his hands on both of Napoleon's shoulders. "I'll take good care of him, I promise. But he'll die for sure if I don't get something in these wounds. I've seen it before, and I don't intend to let it happen to Illya."

Napoleon gave a reluctant nod, and tenderly touched Illya's face with the backs of his fingers. Illya had faded back out again after his comments about the house. 

Artie took off his vest and began to tear it up. Using the strips of fabric, he bound the wounds to try to stop the bleeding. "You can help me carry him down to the horses and help get him on mine."

In a few minutes, Artie was mounted, Illya resting in front of him. He woke again. "Napoleon?" His voice sounded nervous as if Illya had just realized that he wasn't on solid ground anymore.

Napoleon reached for his hand. "I'm right here. Artie's going to take you back to the train to get you patched up. Jim and I are going to the house to find Jack. We'll be going home soon, I promise."

Illya gave him a weary nod. "Be careful." He let his head drop against Artie's chest. Artie put a careful arm around him, not wanting to cause him any pain. Artie caught Jim's eye, silently pleading with him to be careful. When Jim gave him a nod, Artie set the horse to as non-jarring a pace as possible

* * *

Artie had to stop the horse at one point to shift Illya's weight as his arm was falling asleep. He was afraid it would go numb and he'd lose his safe grip on the Russian. Illya had woken up a couple of times, but he mostly dozed, for which Artie was glad. Cat scratches hurt like the devil, let alone cat scratches this large and deep. 

Better for Illya to sleep now because there'd be plenty of pain later on, and he'd need his strength. A couple of times he woke up and called for Napoleon, and Artie kept reassuring him that Napoleon was fine, that he was with Jim, that Illya needed to go back to sleep. 

Artie shook his head in frustration. Why did this have to happen now? Now, when they had found the house and were maybe only hours from going home. Risking some pain to Illya, he encouraged the horse to go faster. 

It seemed an endless trip, but finally they arrived back at the train. Artie saw some men talking at the station and yelled for assistance. A couple of them came over and helped him get Illya off the horse and then assisted carrying Illya inside and into the guest suite. One of them asked if they should go get a doctor.

Artie shook his head. He could take better care of Illya than the drunken sot he'd seen the other night. He thanked the men and shut the door behind them. Putting some water on to boil, he grabbed a sheet out of the linen closet and began to tear it into strips. 

As he waited for the water to boil, Artie went back into the bedroom and began to take Illya's clothes off. When he was down to just his undergarments, Artie scowled at all the scratches. There were more than he thought. As the cat was dying, she must have fought like crazy, digging her claws into Illya's skin. 

He checked on the water and, deciding it was hot enough, he poured it into a large bowl and carried it carefully into the bedroom. Artie began the laborious process of cleaning out the wounds as thoroughly as he could. He didn't like what he found as he cleaned away the blood and dirt. It had only been a few hours and already the scratches were a vicious red.

Illya's eyes snapped open.

Artie hastened to orient him. "You're back on the train. Do you remember what happened?"

Illya nodded, but then winced as it pulled the scratches on his shoulder. "A big cat jumped on me."

Artie nodded. "Now a big dead cat."

Illya gave him a tight smile. "Good." He glanced around the room without moving his head. "Napoleon?"

"He's with Jim. They're checking out the house."

Illya closed his eyes again. Artie wished he'd fall back asleep, but apparently surcease from that direction was over. Illya stayed very still, but Artie could see the pain on his face as he dug the dirt out of the deep scratches. "Do you want something to drink?"

Illya grunted, which Artie interpreted as a no. He got back to work. He wished this was the worst of it, but it wasn't. It took him almost an hour, and he was sweating bullets by the time it was done. He patted Illya on his good shoulder. "We're done for the moment. I'm going to go brew you a cup of tea and mix up some medicine. I'll be back in a few minutes. Try to get some sleep." Illya gave him the smallest of nods, his face tight with pain. Artie's lips tightened in sympathy and he left to do his chores.

Illya was still awake when he got back. Artie sat on the side of the bed and held out a cup of tea. "I need you to drink this. It's got yarrow and white willow bark in it. It's good for the blood."

Illya gave the tea a suspicious stare, but he stoically pushed himself up high enough to take the cup. 

Artie grinned at his expression as he took a tentative sip. "I know it's bitter, but it's good for you."

Illya didn't bother to argue, choosing instead to get through the unpleasant task as quickly as possible. In just a few swallows, he drank all the tea.

Artie gave him a pleased smile. Then he glanced at the basket he'd brought in with him, and the smile dropped off his face. "I need to put some powders in those scratches."

Illya must have heard something in his voice because he gave him a guarded look. "And?"

"And…it's going to hurt."

Illya studied Artie's face for a minute and then gave a small, resigned shrug. "Do what you have to do."

"I mean it, Illya. It's going to hurt a lot. Are you sure you don't want something to drink first? Or I could dose you with some laudanum?"

Illya's eyes widened at the suggestion, but he shook his head. "Just do it."

Artie wished Napoleon was there. Napoleon would force some liquor down his stubborn partner, and then he could help hold Illya down. Artie picked up the bowl with the yellowish mixture inside of it. "It's sulfur and mustard. They think small organisms actually cause infections in cuts like these. The sulfur and mustard mix to make an acid that supposedly kills them."

Illya put a consoling hand on Artie's knee. "Just do it, Artemus."

"I just thought you might like to know what I was doing."

Illya gave him a look, which Artie took as instruction to stop babbling and get on with it. Taking a deep breath, he scooped out a small amount and began to work it into the scratches on Illya's shoulder. 

It took a few seconds, but Artie could feel Illya's body stiffen when the pain hit him. Illya let out a small groan and closed his eyes, his hands squeezing into tight fists. Artie scrunched his face up in misery, hating what he was doing, but having no choice. He pressed on, filling and covering all the scratch wounds with the acidic compound.

By the time he was done, Illya was panting for breath, and his fingers had ripped through the sheets he was lying on. Artie felt as if he'd aged ten years. He'd used this compound on both himself and Jim in the past, but nowhere near the quantity. "Okay. I'm done." He chose not to tell Illya that he'd have to do it again in a few hours. "Do you want that drink now?"

Illya nodded, his eyes closed tightly, his face rigid with pain.

Artie jumped to his feet, relieved. "I'll be right back." He moved quickly to the parlor and poured Illya a drink. Halfway back, he returned to the parlor and picked up the whole bottle. Artie helped Illya sit up, and watched as the injured man drank the whole glass in one long gulp. Artie didn't blame him in the least. He'd only been doctoring Illya, and he wanted a drink so badly he could taste it. 

But he needed to keep his wits about him, so he poured a small serving into a shot glass and swigged it down. He held up the bottle. "You want more?"

Illya shook his head. 

Artie decided to pour him out another drink anyway and put it on the bedside table. "If you change your mind, it's right there." At another nod from Illya, Artie decided he'd better get his horse bedded down and get himself cleaned off, as he was covered in blood. After telling Illya where he was going, he gently covered the wounded man with a blanket and left the room.

* * *

Jim watched as Napoleon crept closer to the house. They hadn't discussed it because neither one of them wanted to actually say the words out loud, but from the outside it didn't look as if anyone was there. Jim hoped that didn't mean they'd already packed up and gone home. 

He didn't want to face that particular future, watching over Illya and Napoleon as they died over the next few days. He had an insane thought that maybe Dr. Loveless would be able to help them out. Then he dismissed it just as quickly. Whatever Loveless would want in payment would be too expensive. Much, much too expensive. And Jim couldn't afford to be in debt to the little genius.

Although Jim knew that if it was Artie's life on the line, he'd consider it. And he wasn't positive he could watch these men die without doing everything and anything in his power he could to help. He heard Napoleon's whistle and looked up, glad for the distraction from his thoughts. Time to go in. Jim moved to the window on the east side of the house, and he slowly pushed it open, crawling in once it was wide enough. 

The stench in the room almost made him gag. His eyes watering, he looked for the source of the smell, even as he opened the door to get some air circulating. It was a dead body. And he'd been dead for a while, by the smell of him.

A shiver running down his back, Jim left the room and began to check out his side of the house. He found one empty room after another. And it looked like the exodus had happened quickly. Belongings were scattered as if the remaining men had been given only minutes to grab what they could before leaving. It didn't look good.

He rendezvoused with Napoleon in the kitchen. There was still food on the table, leftovers from breakfast, yesterday's by the look of it and the number of bugs crawling all over it. Maybe that's when that last man had died and the rest of them had decided to call it quits. Jim could tell by Napoleon's face that he was drawing equally sobering conclusions. "Nothing?"

Napoleon shook his head. "Nothing." He kicked a kitchen cabinet in frustration. "Damn it." He kicked it again, and Jim could hear the wood crack.

Jim had no idea what to say and decided to stay focused on tasks. "Let's do a thorough search. Maybe they left something useful behind. Maybe there's a second one of those things that brought you here or someone still alive on the property who can tell us something."

Napoleon nodded despondently. "Let's switch sides."

Jim thought that was a good idea. "There's a dead guy in the last room. He's a bit…ripe."

Napoleon looked even more depressed. With no further words, he left to do his search.

Jim gave the kitchen table a wide berth and headed down the main corridor. Every room was the same, plenty of personal belongings but nothing of any worth. Some clothes, books, a few pictures. He felt a moment's excitement when he found something that looked like Artie's lab, but on closer examination he could see it was only filled with what he assumed were a few stray medicines of different sorts in brightly labeled bottles. After pocketing what he found for Artie to look at, and ascertaining that there weren't any notes of any kind, he moved on. 

When he was done with the house, Jim left to go check out the barn. The horses were in rough shape, two of them dead already. It appeared that nothing was immune to the consequences of being out of time and place. 

He couldn't stand to see the horses suffering so took out his gun to put the last three horses out of their misery. After shooting them, he stepped out into the sunlight, drawing a deep breath. 

Jim knew the gunfire would draw Napoleon and wasn't surprised to see him only seconds later, his gun drawn. 

"What is it? Did you find someone?" 

Jim hated like hell to disappoint him. "No, I put the horses down." Jim winced at the look in Napoleon's eyes. He pulled the few bottles of medicine out of his pocket. "Will any of these help Illya?"

Napoleon looked them over. "Was this all there was?"

Jim nodded. "It looked like they cleared the room out. Or maybe they used it all as they were getting sick."

With a sigh, Napoleon held out two of them. "These will help with fevers. The rest of them are for upset stomachs and colds."

Jim looked at the small packages with some respect and put them back in his pocket. 

Napoleon moved to the door of the barn and looked out. "Maybe Jack's on the grounds somewhere. Maybe he's dead, but the device is still here."

Jim was willing to help him look, but he didn't believe it, and he didn't think Napoleon believed it either. They were gone. The people in charge had seen what was happening, and they'd gone back home to the time in which they belonged. And anyone who'd been luckless enough to be away from the grounds at the time got left behind. Including Illya and Napoleon. "Let's go look." He pointed to the right. "We should take the horses. I'll cover this way, and we can meet back here when we're done. Fire your gun if you find something, and I'll do the same."

Napoleon nodded and walked with Jim back to the side of the house where they'd left the horses. Without saying a word, they both mounted and swung off in opposite directions.

Jim searched for any trace of bodies without actually expecting to find anything. So, he was surprised when he did. Reining in his horse, who was not pleased at the stink of death, Jim looked down at the dead man. He got off his horse and, ignoring the stench and the feasting bugs, he took a look.

The man's fingers were dug in the dirt. It took Jim a moment to realize that he must have already been dying when he heard the call to come in. But he'd been too sick to run for it and not valued enough for anyone to come and get him, so he'd used his last breath trying to crawl his way to safety. 

And that meant that he probably didn't have the device Napoleon wanted so desperately. But Jim had to look and used his boot to roll the man over. Not wanting to touch the blood-soaked clothing, he looked for a stick to tap against the man's clothing in search of something metal. All Jim found was the man's gun, similar to the ones Illya and Napoleon wore. But other than that, he was concealing nothing.

The odor finally more than he could stand, Jim backed away. Despite Napoleon's assertions that none of these men were well-intentioned, Jim still felt sorry for this man's ignoble death. Maybe it was because he saw the same in store for Illya and Napoleon. Such a meaningless way to die. He thought again of Loveless, almost willing to take the chance of trying to find him, see if he could find a way to send his new friends home.

He didn't even know if the doctor was alive. Jim was sure he was; he seemed to be indestructible. The problem was that he had no idea where to look, and they were running out of time. 

Shaking his head to pull himself out of his reverie, Jim got back on Duke, who was only too glad to move away. He searched for an hour, but the only creatures he saw were dead and dying cows and a multitude of carrion birds.

He slowly made his way back to the house, only to find Napoleon already there, sitting on the front stoop, his head in his hands. He raised his head as Jim approached. "They're gone, aren't they?"

Jim dismounted and crouched down in front of him. "I'm afraid so." He wished he knew the right words to say. Artie was so much better at this than he was.

Napoleon stood. "I want to see Illya."

Jim could understand that completely. He wanted to see Artie, too. "Let's go, then."

The two men mounted and started back to the train.

* * *

Artie's lips tightened as he put a cool wet cloth on Illya's forehead. The fevers had already begun. The first one had come on fast, and gone quickly, but it had weakened Illya. And it was time to reapply the sulfur and mustard powder.

He heard the sounds of hoof beats and closed his weary eyes with a sense of relief. Artie touched Illya's hand. "They're home."

Illya nodded, a small smile on his lips. 

"I'll be right back." Artie got up and, hearing the stable car door open, made his way toward the back of the train in search of his partner and Napoleon. One look at their faces told him what he needed to know. And what he didn't want to know. "Nothing?"

Both men shook their heads. Artie could hardly stand to look at Napoleon's face; it spoke of helplessness and the loss of hope. 

"How's Illya?" When Artie hesitated, Napoleon spoke more sharply. "How is he?" 

"He's in the guest room. He's resting."

Napoleon's lips tightened. "What aren't you saying?"

Artie let out a sigh. "The cuts are already infected. He's been getting fevers." 

Jim pulled the packets out of his pocket and handed them to Artie. "Napoleon says some of these are good for fevers." He took the reins from Napoleon. "Go on. I'll take care of the horses."

Napoleon nodded his thanks and followed Artie into the forward part of the train. Napoleon hesitated outside the door of the guestroom, and Artie wondered if Napoleon were bracing himself for what he might see, or what he had to say. Both, Artie supposed.

Illya's voice interrupted them both. "I know you're out there, Napoleon. I'm guessing by your slinking about that you don't have good news."

Napoleon flashed Artie a crooked grin, and entered the room. Artie called in. "I need to mix more powder. I'll be back in a few minutes." He had some mixed already, but he wanted to give the two men a moment alone.

Napoleon entered the room, trying to hide his reaction to the distressing sight of his partner. The only thing covering him was a towel over his groin. Illya was obviously too hot for any of the blankets. He was sweating, his breathing rapid, his eyes a bit glazed. The scratches looked virulent, red and inflamed. Illya frowned. "Do I look that bad?"

Napoleon let out a short laugh. He should have known better than to think he could hide anything from Illya. "Yes." He walked into the room and sat down gingerly on the side of the bed. "Does it hurt if I sit here?"

Illya shook his head and gazed at Napoleon for a few seconds. "They were already gone?"

Napoleon nodded, his jaw clenched. 

Illya closed his eyes. "Then, that's it."

Napoleon didn't want to speak the words, so he stayed silent.

There was a pause. "I am sorry, Napoleon."

"For what?"

"For jumping into that portal. For signing our death warrants."

"We're not dead yet." Napoleon watched as the briefest of smiles flickered across his partner's face. "And, while I have no wish to be maudlin, at least…"

"At least what?"

"At least we'll die together." Napoleon removed the washcloth, dipping it in the cold water, wringing it out and placing it back on Illya's forehead. He found himself speaking a deep truth. "It always scared me. The thought of losing you. The idea of living without you."

Illya opened his eyes and met Napoleon's. "I do love you, Napoleon." His eyes were full of his feelings for his partner, dimmed only slightly with the pain of his injuries.

"I know. I love you, too." Napoleon twined his fingers through Illya's. "I love you, too." Another deep truth. The words unleashed a well of love inside him for his partner.

Artie chose that minute to clear his throat out in the hallway, giving them a second before entering. Napoleon stayed where he was, holding Illya's hand.

A grimace crossed Illya's face. "Again?"

Artie nodded. "I'm sorry, but I need to put it on every six hours."

Napoleon looked at the contents of the bowl. "What is it?"

Artie explained. "Sulfur and mustard."

Napoleon's eyebrows lifted high. "What?"

Illya took over. "It makes an acid, eats away the germs." Illya looked down at his skin, the reddened ploughed gouges in his body. "Unfortunately, it tends to eat away my skin as well."

Napoleon looked at the yellowish powder and then back at Illya, aghast. "He put that in your scratches?"

Illya sighed. "Yes, it was a very bracing experience." He squeezed Napoleon's hand. "I'm glad you're here."

Napoleon glanced down at the fingers wrapped tightly around his. "Why? So you can share the pain by breaking my fingers?"

Illya shared a tired grin. "Would you mind very much? Misery does love company."

"I think we have plenty of misery to go around without manufacturing any." Napoleon smiled to take the sting out of his words. "But, no, I don't mind at all. Break them all if you need to."

Napoleon found himself drowning in blue eyes filled with such love, it was like an intoxicant. Forcing his gaze away, he focused in on Artie. "Do you need me to move?" 

  
Artie considered it for a moment. "No. I'll just have you switch sides after a while." He lifted a cloth. "I have to clean out your wounds first, Illya, then I'll pack them again." He poured Illya a drink. "Let's have you drink one before we start this time."

Napoleon let Artie pour him a drink as well, and then he asked for the small bottles of medicine, selecting some aspirin. He shook out three tablets and handed them to Illya. "Here, take these. They were at the house." He recapped the bottle and put it on the dresser.

Illya gave him a tight nod, swallowed the pills and the drink, and then gripped Napoleon's fingers tightly. "Go ahead."

* * *

It had taken an hour, and Napoleon was sweating as profusely as Illya. Watching his friend in excruciating pain for an hour, unable to do a damn thing about it, had been torture. Never would he complain about U.N.C.L.E.'s Medical section again. 

He'd forced another drink down his stubborn partner, but that had had no effect and Illya refused to drink more, also refusing Artie's offer of laudanum. For the last fifteen minutes of the treatment, Napoleon had just gotten as close as he could, stroking Illya's hair, trying to distract him. 

Finally Artie was done, looking as drawn as Napoleon felt. Napoleon could feel Illya trembling and inched a little closer to his sick partner. 

Artie pulled up the covers from the bottom of the bed. "His fever's climbing again."

Napoleon tucked the blanket in tightly around his partner. "Is that better?"

The trembling increased. Artie opened up a cabinet and withdrew two more blankets. He opened them, and with Napoleon's help, spread them over the shaking man. "I'm going to go make you more tea."

Illya nodded and then, his face a study in misery, turned carefully on to his side, facing Napoleon. "I hate c-c-cats." Illya's teeth were chattering.

Napoleon expelled a shaky laugh. "Me, too." He pulled Illya in toward his chest, wrapping his arms carefully around his partner, not wanting to cause him any more pain. He ran his hands up and down his back. "Better?"

"Y-y-yes." 

Napoleon kept rubbing. 

When Artie returned with the tea, he helped Napoleon raise Illya up enough to drink. "It's just hot tea. I wasn't sure how the herbs would interact with the medicine you gave him." He smiled at Illya. "It should help warm you up."

Illya reached for the cup, and leaning back against Napoleon, he drank it, holding the cup between both hands as if warming himself over an open fire. When he was done he handed the cup back to Artie and crawled back under the covers. Like a pouty child, he nudged Napoleon with his head to get his hands moving again. 

Napoleon complied and began to rub his back again.

Artie watched the two of them and reached a decision. "If you want to watch him for a while, Napoleon, I wouldn't be averse to a few hours sleep."

Napoleon didn't stop his rubbing. "Just tell me what I need to do."

He put a hand on Illya's forehead. "I know he's freezing right now, but as his fever climbs, if he gets too hot, you'll need to start cooling him off. Cool cloths to his forehead, armpits, and groin."

Illya groaned at his words, burrowing deeper under the covers.

"You know better than I do how to give him the medicine from your time. It's all right there." He pointed to the dresser where Napoleon had put the aspirin. Six bottles of medicine sat there. "Wake me if he gets worse."

Napoleon glanced at Artie, took in his worried expression and his weary stance. "I will. Go to bed." And take Jim with you, he added silently. Don't waste a minute of the time you have together.

Artie gave them a last look, then left the room, closing the door behind him.

* * *

Artie entered the bathroom and stood there, almost too tired to start his ablutions. Just the thought of taking off his clothes felt exhausting, and he was considering just going to bed as he was when Jim walked into the small room. 

Jim took one look at him and gently pushed him down on the lip of the tub. "You look about done in."

Artie nodded his agreement. Hurting Illya that much had taken almost everything out of him. Coupled with the fact that it was probably pointless, that the man was all too likely to die anyway no matter what he did, made it all much worse. 

He focused in on the fact that Jim was down at his feet working his boots and stockings off. Artie thought about telling him that he didn't need to do that, but he was so damn grateful for the assistance and the attention that he kept his mouth shut. 

Jim worked off Artie's vest and shirt next. Then he disappeared, only to return with a heated kettle of water. He poured the steaming water into the washbowl, mixed it with some cooler water, and wet some wash cloths. After soaping one, he began to sweep it over Artie's chest and arms. 

It felt wonderful. Artie let his head fall against Jim's belly as he trusted his partner to see to his needs. He must have dozed off, because the next thing he knew, he was being tugged up and gently steered into his bedroom. His pants were stripped off of him, and Jim sat him on the bed and then helped him lie down. He felt a moment's exasperation with himself. "Sorry I'm so tired, James. Not being much help."

Jim just shook his head at him and started to pull the covers over him, turning to leave.

Artie grabbed his arm. "Stay. Will you stay with me? Just to sleep? I don't really want to be alone."

From the look on Jim's face, it appeared that he hadn't wanted to be alone either. He stripped down to his underwear and crawled over Artie to take the side of the bed closest to the wall. He lay on his back, a few inches between them.

Artie gave him a look and then reached out and wrapped an arm around Jim, pulling him tight against him. "Not much use to me as a teddy bear way over there, Jim."

Jim let out a soft snicker, and surrendering to his new duties, returned the hug, lying as close to Artie as he could. 

Artie nuzzled his hair, breathing in the scent of his partner, taking solace in his presence, and in time, fell to sleep 

* * *

The latest fever had finally broken, and Napoleon lay a few inches away from Illya, letting him sweat in peace. It had been a long few hours. He'd forced more aspirin down his throat, and spent long periods of time sponging him down with washcloths to either cool him as the fevers spiked, or to clean him off as the fevers abated. 

Napoleon had stolen a few minutes here and there for catnaps, but each time he'd jerked awake with his heart pounding in his chest, consumed with a sense of terror that Illya was dead. Napoleon decided that the naps weren't worth the waking. 

Not that there wasn't plenty of terror to go around when he was awake. Illya was going to die. No way around that. If the cat scratches didn't kill him with infection, their journey through time would. Napoleon was just selfish enough to wish that they'd go together, at the exact same time. The thought of being alive after Illya was dead, even for just a few days, left him breathless with loneliness, a pain so raw he would look down at his body and be surprised he wasn't bleeding from a dozen wounds.

He spared a thought to the life they'd left behind. Wondered what Waverly was doing, imagined the fruitless search for the two of them, their boss never knowing what had happened to his two best agents. He thought of his apartment and all his belongings, and all the women. So many women. And not one of them held a candle to this sweating, miserable, blond-haired, blue-eyed man at his side. 

He'd told Illya that he loved him. And he did. With a savage longing that made his skin feel too tight for his body. Napoleon might not have wanted to let that particular genie out of its bottle, but now that it was out, it was out with a vengeance. Of course he was in love with Illya. How could he not be in love with him?

Now, on this side of a declaration of love, Napoleon could see it had been there for as long as he could remember. Maybe it had started the moment they'd been introduced, and had only grown stronger as they grew to know each other, save each other's lives, depend on each other. Partners. In every sense of the word.

"Napoleon?"

Napoleon glanced down at Illya, saw how pinched his face was, his eyes glazed with pain. He felt his heart clench in his chest, wishing he could take it away. "Back in the land of the living, eh, tovarisch?"

Illya gave him a wry smile. "For the moment." He tried to stretch, but aborted the effort as every movement seemed to cause him pain.

"Are you sure I can't get you to take some laudanum?" Napoleon knew Illya hated pain medications of any kind, hated to not be at full capacity. And while the liquor might have worked as an anesthetic on most people, Illya had an alcohol threshold that was awe-inspiring. He suspected there wasn't enough liquor on board the train to knock him out. "It's not as if you're in any shape to help out in a crisis anyway."

Illya wearily shook his head. "Is it--is it time?" 

Napoleon looked into the anxious eyes and knew Illya was talking about the noxious compound Artie had made, wondering if it was time to pour more acid in his wounds. Napoleon was sure his own eyes reflected his own apprehension about that upcoming task. "No, you still have another hour."

Illya blew out a soft but extended breath. Then he looked down at his body and made a sour face.

Napoleon knew what that meant. He got up and grabbing a fresh washcloth, began wiping the sweat off his partner's battered body.

Illya tried to take the cloth. "I can do that."

Napoleon snatched it back out of his reach. "I know that. But you need to be resting."

Illya rolled his eyes. "I do not believe that running a wet cloth over my skin will wear me out."

"Maybe not, but it gives me something to do." And, Napoleon thought, it lets me touch you. 

Illya flashed him a small grin. "Far be it from me to keep you from your hobbies, Napoleon."

Napoleon snorted out a short laugh. He ran the cloth down Illya's arm and then lifted it to swab his armpit. Rinsing the cloth, he repeated the action on his other arm. Napoleon glanced up to find Illya gazing at him. "What?"

Illya gave a little shake of his head. 

"No, really. What?" Napoleon was surprised to see Illya redden. He stopped wiping down Illya's chest. "Am I embarrassing you by doing this?"

Illya shook his head again. He opened his mouth to speak, and then hesitated. 

Napoleon waited patiently. Illya would either speak or not. Nothing short of torture and drugs forced any words out of his partner's mouth that he didn't wish to say. Finally he was rewarded. 

"I like to look at you."

Napoleon felt like a bumbling teenager as he felt his own blush rise. He found himself grinning. "You do?" He glanced up to see Illya's nod. Absurdly pleased but, equally absurdly, not having any idea what to say, he pulled the sheet carefully to the side so he could start working on one of Illya's legs, avoiding the vicious-looking scratches. He tried to ignore the red tracks that were making their way up and down Illya's legs.

Illya spoke again. "You are…you are a very handsome man."

Napoleon couldn't remember a compliment meaning more in his life. He stopped what he was doing and caught his partner's eyes. "You are, too." Illya made a negating movement with his hand, and Napoleon rested his hand on his arm to stop it. "You are. I like to look at you, too." His eyes swept down Illya's body, taking in his compact muscular shape, the more than adequate mound of genitals, the strength so obvious despite his injuries. "All of you. I like to look at all of you." 

He saw a small twitch in response from Illya's cock, but he wasn't surprised that Illya didn't have it in him to get an erection. 

"Napoleon…"

Napoleon sat on the edge of the bed and took Illya's hand in his. "No, I mean it. This isn't a pity thing, or a 'we're going to be dead in a few days so what does it matter' thing. I do. I do like to look at you. I always have. I just never let myself think about what that meant." Napoleon moved his gaze to their clasped hands. "I'm just sorry it took me so long. That now, when I know what you really mean to me--" He didn't finish the sentence, just let out a soft laugh of dismay.

Illya brought Napoleon's hand up to his mouth to kiss his knuckles. Napoleon looked up and found that the Russian's blue-eyed gaze held nothing but love, the pain and worry pushed aside for the moment. He felt Illya tug on his hand. "Lie down with me."

Napoleon nodded, but then stood again. "Let me finish wiping you down." He rinsed out the cloth and pulled the sheet away entirely so he could reach Illya's other leg. That was when he saw it. The bruising, the skin starting to shed. His heart skipped a beat and then started hammering.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, and he gently rolled Illya to the side so he could see his back. What he found was blood on the sheets. Just a small stain, but blood nonetheless. Napoleon took the washcloth and wiped down the cleft of Illya's buttocks. The washcloth came away with more blood. He balled the cloth in his hand and threw it to the floor, as he noticed other bruises on the back of Illya's thighs, one on his back, and more areas where the skin was starting to peel.

Napoleon gently let Illya go until he was lying on his back again. Something of his panic must have shown on his face because Illya grabbed his arm. "What is it?"

Napoleon was trying not to fall apart. Breathe, he told himself, draw in a breath, and then let it out. Draw in a breath and let it out. Finally, he felt calm enough to speak. He looked up at Illya's face and saw that his nose was bleeding. It wasn't even a conscious thought, but he was out of the room and banging on Artie's door before he knew it. "Artie, Artie, wake up."

He went back into the guestroom, saw that Illya had realized his nose was bleeding and was making his own attempt not to panic. Napoleon moved to his side, gave him a cloth for his nose, grabbed his other hand and held on tight. 

Artie burst into the room, still buttoning his pants, his chest and feet bare. "What? What's happened?" He looked from Napoleon to Illya, saw nothing unduly amiss, and furrowed his brow. "What's wrong?"

He watched Napoleon swallow. "He's bleeding."

That wasn't quite enough information. The wounds were deep enough it wasn't surprising that they might still be bleeding. 

Napoleon must have seen the confusion as he volunteered more information. "From his nose and his anus. He's bruising and…" 

Artie glanced up at him, watched as Napoleon bit his lip, turning his head away, his jaw clenched. Artie's sleep-addled brain started to connect the dots. Too soon, he thought, his mind wanting to reject the information, too soon for this. He moved further into the room. "Show me."

Napoleon glanced down for Illya's permission, and Artie watched the silent communication between the two men. Illya gave a sad nod and Napoleon helped him roll over and pointed out the spots to Artie. 

Artie took a long look and then indicated to Napoleon to let Illya settle back down. He glanced at Napoleon. "Has it started on you as well?"

Napoleon pulled off his shirt and looked down at his chest. He turned so Artie could check out his back. "Anything?"

Artie shook his head. "Nothing."

Napoleon put the shirt back on and moved around the bed to sit next to his partner by his right side. He found Illya's hand and laced his fingers through Illya's. "Why is it happening to him and not to me?"

Artie shook his head, running his fingers through his disordered hair. "I'm not sure. I'm guessing that his injuries sped up the process. His body was weakened and, because of it, has less resilience to fight the process."

Illya pulled the cloth away from his nose, grimaced at the blood, and folded it so he had a clean layer to press against his nose again. It, too, came away with blood. Illya turned his head away, composing himself, and Artie found his own eyes stinging. Finally Illya looked back at him. "How long--how long will it take?"

Artie swallowed against the lump in his throat, and then looked up as Jim came into the room, having taken the time to get fully dressed. "Do I need to go get anything?" He looked angry and ready to take on the world, and Artie felt overwhelmed with his emotions. Love for his partner, fear for Illya, misery at what the next days held for them all. He shook his head at Jim, still not sure he could talk with the lump in his throat.

Illya found his voice. "It seems as if my body has chosen to start rejecting our time traveling."

Jim lifted his head quickly, glancing at Artie, and Artie gave him a quick nod. 

Illya asked again, "How long?"

Artie shook his head and finally managed to speak. "I don't know." He thought about the men and the cows, how deteriorated their bodies were. And then he thought about how five hours ago Illya didn't have any of these symptoms. They'd come on fast. His face tightened. "I don't know, but--" He lifted a hand in supplication, communicating his fear and helplessness.

Napoleon sent Artie a desperate look. "Isn't there something you can do? Anything you can give him to slow it down?"

Artie wished he could tell him yes. He wished with all his heart and mind that he could find a solution to this, find a way to a happy ending. But all he could see was death. Stupid, meaningless death. His eyes burning with the sting of tears, he shook his head.

Napoleon held Illya's hand in both of his and lowered his head. Artie saw a tear fall. Wanting to give the two men some privacy, he muttered something about making tea and dragged Jim into the kitchen.

* * *

Illya worked his hand free and caught the next tear. "I'm sorry, Napoleon."

Napoleon shook his head, consumed with a sadness so deep it felt like there was an ocean inside of him. 

He felt Illya reaching for him, urging him to lie down. He allowed himself to be pulled down until he had his face burrowed on Illya's good shoulder. Napoleon wanted to stay there forever, lying by the warm body of his partner, feeling him breathe. But he knew it was nothing but a dream. Death was stalking this room. Mercilessly, relentlessly. 

He felt Illya's hand in his hair, tenderly caressing his scalp. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I'm going to die first. I'm sorry I'm going to leave you alone."

Napoleon lost the fight with his tears and let out a sob into Illya's shoulder. "Oh, God. Oh, God." 

* * *

Jim slammed his fist against the counter. "There's got to be something."

Artie understood his frustration but he was out of miracles. He gave Illya a day, maybe two, but that's all. And then it would be Napoleon's turn. 

Jim kicked the ice box, his fury with the situation clearly not abating. "There has to be something we can do. We can't just sit here and watch them die."

Artie let out a sigh. "James…"

"No, I don't want to hear it." The ice box got another kick. "Damn it." His face was tight as he glanced up at Artie again. "I know it's crazy but maybe Loveless would know what to do."

Artie's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Loveless?" Then he gave it some thought. If there was anyone who could get the men back to their own time, it would be the little doctor. "Do you know where he is?"

Jim shook his head angrily.

Artie put a hand on his partner's shoulder. "If it will make you feel better to look for him, Jim, then do it. But even if you knew where he was, I don't think there's enough time for you to go find him, assuming he'd let himself be found, and then convince him that he ought to help, let alone the time he'd need to create some sort of time machine. I suppose there's an outside chance it might be in time to save Napoleon, but--" The lump was back with a vengeance; he couldn't even swallow. Too late for Illya. Nothing would save him now. 

"Then we save Napoleon."

Artie could hear the need in Jim's voice. The need to be doing something. Anything. It just wasn't in Jim to surrender to the hands of fate. Never had been, never would be. It was one of the things Artie loved about him. Artie spoke gently, "That's assuming he wants to be saved." Artie wasn't sure that Napoleon would care about much of anything once his partner was dead.

Jim let out a frustrated growl. "I can't just sit here and do nothing."

"I know, James, I know." He tightened his hold on Jim's shoulder. "Go do what you have to do."

He was surprised when he suddenly felt Jim's arms move around him, holding him tightly. He returned the embrace, torn between feeling relieved that his partner was whole and healthy, and knowing that Napoleon was in the other room watching his partner die. "Just try not to do anything foolish." Artie couldn't even entertain the thought of something happening to Jim. He skirted that black hole, and hugged Jim even harder. "I love you."

The squeeze he got in response to that made him grunt. Jim pulled away, a tight smile on his lips. He lifted a hand to gently caress Artie's face, his thumb brushing over his lips. "I'll be back." Without another word, he strapped on his gun and headed toward the stable car.

Artie stood there for a minute and then walked quietly to the guestroom. He peeked in and saw Napoleon lying at Illya's side, Illya stroking the dark hair, crooning soft words as Napoleon wept.

* * *

Jim tried not to think as he saddled his horse. Tried not to think about the dead man he'd found in that house or the one he'd discovered in the field. Tried not to think about what their bodies had looked like and how they stank and what that meant for Illya and Napoleon.

As he led the horse out of the stable car, he had no idea where he was going or what he was going to do. All he knew was that he had to do something. He mounted his horse and sat there for a minute, waiting for some inner instinct to guide him. His gaze kept being drawn back in the direction of the ranch house. Trusting a barely present hunch, Jim kicked his horse into a gallop. 

By himself, not having to worry about Napoleon's horseback skills and his ability to keep up, Jim was able to make good time. Within an hour, he could see the rise that signified the house was just beyond. Without slowing, he kept advancing until he was on top of the small hill looking down.

Jim had no idea what he had expected to see, other than a depressingly dark house, filled with death and the malaise of unfulfilled greed, but what he didn't expect to see was a blinding light shining out of one of the upper rooms. His heart in his throat, he approached the house as quietly as he could. Dismounting, he dropped the reins, trusting his horse not to go far. 

The front door was still open from when they'd left the previous day, so he entered the house, gun drawn, and slowly crept upstairs. He could hear drawers being opened and shut, and a steady murmuring of curses. Once he reached the landing, he followed the voice, heading down the hallway. He could hear him more clearly now.

"Where the hell is it? Damn it all to hell." There was the sound of things hitting the floor. "Shit."

Jim reached the doorway to the room and very slowly peeked inside. He jerked back before he could be seen and closed his eyes in acute, almost aching, relief. The light, the light cube, it was there, smack in the middle of the room. 

He thought for a minute, trying to figure out a strategy. The last thing he could afford to do was spook the man and cause him to jump back in, closing the light up behind him. He had to get him out of the room, secure him, and then take it from there.

Jim looked around, trying to come up with something that might attract the man's attention enough to pull him into the hallway. Before he could settle on anything, the man walked out and turned right into his gun. Jim almost smiled at the man's bad luck. He cocked his gun. "Lose something?"

The man started back, and Jim jumped him, knocking him to the ground, forcing a grunt out of him. The man snarled, "Who the hell are you?"

"Doesn't matter. What does matter is that time machine you got in there."

The man snorted. "Death trap is more like it. Feel free. Take a ride. You'll be dead before you know it." He struggled against Jim's hold on him. 

Jim held him down with effortless ease. "Where are the controls?"

At his words, the man's bravado fled, and his eyes widened in fear. "You can't. You can't leave me here. I'll die. And it's only got juice enough for one more trip."

"Can it take more than you?"

The man chose a different tack this time and tightened his lips, refusing to say anything more. 

Jim uncocked his gun, manhandled his prisoner to his feet, and dragged him through a few rooms until he found something he could use to tie him up. Then he dragged him back to the room with the light, tied his hands and feet, and then, for good measure, tied him to the bed, out of reach of the light.

Jim picked up the metal device on the bed and held it carefully in his hand, making sure not to touch any of the controls. He pointed his gun at the man. "How long will the light stay on?"

The man sneered at him.

Jim made as if to touch one of the buttons. "What does this one do?"

The man's eyes almost bugged out of his head. "No, no, don't touch it. Don't touch it! Please, mister, you shut that thing off, and I'm as good as dead."

"Then tell me what I want to know." He gestured at the light cube with his gun. "How long can the door stay open?"

The man grudgingly answered him. "A few hours. Maybe longer."

"How long have you been here?"

"Not long."

Jim cocked his gun again. "How long?"

The man pulled on his ropes, and then just sagged against the side of the bed. "Thirty minutes or so."

"Why are you here?"

"Bill made us leave too fast. He didn't even give us time to get our things."

Jim looked at the room with disbelief, gesturing at the pulled out drawers, their contents strewn all over the floor. "Are you telling me you risked your life to come back here to pack a suitcase?"

He looked as if he might not answer again, but when Jim moved to touch the gadget he spoke. "I got some gold here. I emptied out my savings account back home, to bring gold here. It's everything I own, mister."

"My heart's bleeding for you." Jim proceeded to ignore him and tried to decide what to do. He had to go back to the train and bring Napoleon and Illya here. That much was clear. What he wasn't sure about was what to do with the man. He didn't dare take the gadget with him for fear he might press something while riding. But he didn't like the idea of leaving it here in case the man was somehow able to work himself loose. Nor did it make sense to take the man with him as he would just slow him down.

He blew out a breath and then gestured back at the man. "Will it shut down if you jump through, or does it have to be shut down with this device?"

"Hell if I know, mister. I just know I have to press that button there when I jump through."

Jim didn't want to take the chance. He untied the man from the bed and then dragged him downstairs and out to the barn. He made a face at the stink in there from all the dead horses. Ignoring the stench, Jim secured the man to one of the poles with a heavy length of chain. Then he tied his wrists and ankles together and gagged him. 

He crouched down next to the man, feeling a bit cruel to leave him like this. But he didn't have any choice. "I'll close the door when I leave so no wild animals can get in. I'll be back in a few hours. If the light's still there, you'll get to go home."

The man just closed his eyes in despair and let out a muted groan through the gag. Jim didn't blame him for being so fearful; he'd seen what those men had looked like. And even though he knew this man was a criminal, Jim didn't like knowing that he was potentially sealing his death by cutting off his access. 

Jim thought of Illya and Napoleon and keeping them foremost in his mind he walked out of the barn, shutting the doors firmly behind him. Then he whistled for his horse, mounted, and rode for the train like the hounds of hell were after him.

* * *

Artie poured himself a small drink. He was afraid if he drank any more that he'd keel over. Strong emotions, lack of sleep, and alcohol were a bad combination. He wished Jim were here so he could draw some strength from him. Jim never gave up. Never. No matter how bad the odds were, or how outnumbered they were, Jim continued to fight.

Artie let out a deep breath and sent a silent prayer out to whatever gods were paying attention that they keep his partner safe and help him find a miracle. He cocked his head, keeping an ear out for any sounds from the guestroom. The last time he'd checked on them, both men had been sound asleep. It was way past time for Illya's next treatment, but Artie couldn't bring himself to do it. 

The sound of a horse's galloping hooves made him start up in surprise. He moved to the parlor and was heading to the door when it slammed open to reveal Jim, who snapped out, "I found it. The light. It's at the house. Get them up, we have to go."

Artie was too tired to make initial sense of what Jim was saying. He watched in stunned silence as Jim entered the guest room. "Napoleon, wake up."

Napoleon sat up with a panicked look on his face. "What?" His face grew suddenly pale and he looked down at his partner. "Is he--" He let out a huge breath when Illya's eyes opened.

Jim was barking out orders. "Artie, go saddle two more horses." When Artie seemed rooted in place, he went and took him by the shoulders, shaking him, trying to get his full attention. "Artemus, I found the time travel machine. A man came back to retrieve something he left here. He only thinks it lasts a few hours, and I've already used up one of them getting back here."

Artie found that he was suddenly wide awake, energy zinging through his body. "You think Duke can make that run again?"

Jim thought about it for a minute. He was the better rider by far of all of them, which meant he needed to be the one to take Illya. And that meant he needed a fresh horse. "Saddle three."

Artie nodded and ran for the stable car. Jim turned to see that Napoleon was already up and gathering clothes for Illya. Napoleon turned hopeful eyes on him. "You saw it?"

Jim nodded and watched as Napoleon moved to help Illya sit up. When Jim saw how much it hurt the injured man, he frowned. Lifting the bottle of laudanum, he held it out. "You need to take some."

Illya shook his head.

Jim frowned at him. "I'm not giving you a choice. This is going to hurt. I'm going to have to hold you in front of me and we'll be riding for close to two hours. I'll ride better and faster if you can relax."

Jim tried not to think about whether Illya's battered body could survive the abuse; the man was bruising without anything touching him at all. Jim could see that there were many more bruises present just in the few hours he'd been gone. His lips tightened. There wasn't any choice. This was Illya's only hope for getting out of this alive.

Illya reluctantly nodded. "How much do I need to take?"

Jim picked up the spoon that had been lying next to the bottle. Artie had dosed him often enough with the noxious stuff that he felt comfortable answering. "Normally I'd say take two spoonfuls, but I want you to take three. The more unconscious you are, the better."

Napoleon put his hand on Illya's shoulder. "I'll be with you, tovarish. Take it."

Illya tried to reach for the bottle, but his hand was shaking too hard. Napoleon took it instead and measured out the required amount, encouraging Illya to drink it down.

Just taking the medicine exhausted Illya, and he lay back, panting. Napoleon flashed Jim a look, and Jim knew they were both sharing the same fears. But, like him, Napoleon knew there was no choice. 

"Can you get him dressed?"

Napoleon nodded.

"I'm going to help Artie with the horses." With that he was gone.

Napoleon tried to keep the hope at bay. To suddenly have a possibility of life dangled in front of him seemed too much to believe, and so part of him didn't. There were so many things that could still go wrong. Not the least was Illya not surviving the punishing ride ahead. The risk of arriving back at the house, getting there in time, only to find that Illya had bled to death on the way, seemed only too real.

He shook those thought off, and whipped the sheet off of Illya. They had to try. Napoleon wished he had something loose to put on his partner. Covering him back up, he ran to Artie's room and scrounged through his closet looking for pants and a shirt. Grabbing the first acceptable thing he found, he ran back to Illya. He began to work the pants up Illya's legs, wincing at the pain on his partner's face as the fabric rubbed against the raw wounds. "I'm sorry."

Illya gritted his teeth. "Just do it. It doesn't matter."

Napoleon clenched his jaw and did as he was told. He buttoned the pants closed, and then worked a belt through the loops. Without it, the pants would have slipped down over Illya's hips the minute he stood. After that was done, Napoleon gently sat Illya up, letting his head rest on his shoulder as he worked a shirt up his partner's arms. 

He lay Illya back down and started on the buttons. Illya weakly slapped his hands away. "I can do this." His words were a little slurred.

Napoleon let him attend to the buttons as he started inching socks over Illya's feet. By the time he finished with the socks, and had worked his shoes on, he could hear the horses whinnying out in front of the train. He glanced up at his partner, only to find that he had gotten about half the buttons done, and appeared to be fast asleep.

Napoleon gazed heavenwards, sending up a prayer of thanks, and finished buttoning the shirt. He hoped the medicine would hold and allow his partner to make this journey pain-free. 

Artie burst in the room. "Are you ready?"

Napoleon tucked Illya's jacket under his arm. "Yes." 

Artie noticed the jacket and said, "Let's get that on him, it's chilly out."

Napoleon lifted Illya as Artie worked the jacket on his dead-to-the-world partner. Then, both men lifted him, and worked their way carefully out of the train. Jim was already mounted, and he held out his arms for Illya. Napoleon had to fight his instincts to keep his partner close to him, but reason prevailed and with Artie's help, they got Illya situated in front of Jim. 

Jim used a rope around Illya's waist to secure his body. He worked the rope around himself and then tied it tightly. "Let's go."

Snapping his fingers, Napoleon ran back inside and grabbed his and Illya's communicators and guns. He ran back out, got on his horse, and the three of them rode off into the night.

Napoleon couldn't remember a worse passage of time. Fear summed it up perfectly. Fear that the trip would kill Illya. Fear that they'd get there, and the light cube would still be open but Illya would be dead. Fear that they'd get there, and the light cube would not be there, and he'd have to watch Illya die and then wait for his own death. Fear that, in the darkness, the horse he was on would trip and fall, and he'd break his neck. 

Every breath he drew in was fraught with fear, and he could feel every muscle in his body grow tighter with tension the closer they came to their destination. He wanted to scream in frustration; he wanted to get closer to Jim and see how Illya was doing, but he didn't want to risk distracting either Jim or the horses. 

They were moving too fast for him to even see if Illya was breathing. His partner had woken up about thirty minutes ago and started letting out these low groans that slithered down Napoleon's spine and congealed in his stomach. All Jim had done when the groans had started was clutch Illya tighter and spur the horses on to an even greater speed.

It wasn't far now. Napoleon was mentally reciting a mantra: pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease, on and on, over and over again. 

A voice interrupted his litany. "It's just over that rise."

Napoleon had to fight the urge to stop his horse. It almost seemed easier to give up right then rather than ride over that hill to find they were too late. Ignoring the insidious voice, he kept on going and then had to fight back off a sense of lightheadedness when he saw the blinding light shining out of the upstairs window. 

Artie let out a huge whoop of relief and moved closer to Jim. "How is he?"

Napoleon held his breath, sick with dread.

"He's still alive. That's all I can tell you."

That was good enough for Napoleon. 

Not letting loose of his burden, Jim pointed a finger toward the barn. "Artie, there's a man tied up in the barn. Go get him."

Artie nodded and turned his horse in that direction. Jim and Napoleon made their way to the house. Napoleon dismounted first and began untying the ropes that bound Illya to Jim. Now that Napoleon was this close, he could see that Illya was breathing, although they were little more than choked breaths, each one ending on a small moan.

Once the ropes were off, Napoleon held up his arms, and Jim carefully lowered Illya into his care. Then Jim dismounted and entered the house, holding the door open, guarding Illya's head from bumping as Napoleon crossed the threshold. 

Napoleon could hear Artie snapping at someone, relieved to hear that he had gotten the man Jim was speaking of untied quickly, and was on his way to the house, prisoner in tow. He didn't want to risk Illya's life waiting for one of the bad guys. Napoleon entered the room upstairs and just stared at the light, still lightheaded with relief that they had found a way home. That Jim had found them a way home. 

He lifted his head and turned to Jim who was standing in the doorway. "Thank you." Napoleon's eyes were burning, and his throat felt tight.

Jim gave him a small smile in response and said, "I'm going to go get the control. I hid it in another room."

Napoleon gave him a nod and sat on the bed, Illya cradled in his arms. He looked down at the body he was holding, and grimaced at the blood he saw. Illya's nose had started bleeding again and his wounds had bled as well. Napoleon didn't want to even think about the likelihood of internal bleeding from that jarring ride. "Illya? Can you hear me? We'll be home soon."

Illya shifted a little in his arms and let out a cough. Napoleon swallowed down his fear as the cough gave rise to some blood specked spittle. Napoleon wiped it away. "Hang in there a little longer. Please."

Jim arrived back in the room, followed by Artie, holding tightly to his prisoner, whose wrists were bound behind him. Jim turned to him, holding up the device. "How do you work it?"

When the man turned his head away sullenly, Artie put some pressure on his bound arms. 

Illya coughed again, and Napoleon stood, glaring at the man. "Your choice. Either you tell us, or we all die here together."

"Let me find my gold first."

Artie rolled his eyes, having taken in the condition of the room, scattered belongings all over the floor. "If it's not where you left it, then obviously one of your trustworthy partners already helped himself to it."

The man hung his head for a moment and then let out a defeated nod. "You don't got to do anything to get home. You just jump in. The last person to go through has to carry the controls."

Napoleon looked at the light. "Where's the other end? Where are we going to come out?"

"It's a deserted warehouse down by the docks."

"What city?"

"Dallas."

A major city suited Napoleon just fine. A major city meant a major hospital and an U.N.C.L.E. office. He could call for both medical assistance and for agents to pick up the Thrush lackey. They could interrogate him to get to the bottom of this insane and spectacularly unsuccessful Thrush plan to cheat time and try to change the future, presumably giving Thrush an extra hundred years advantage. He didn't imagine they'd try this particular plan again. 

He dropped his head for a second, resting his forehead on the top of Illya's hair. "Almost home. Almost home." Suddenly he realized that it was time to go, and that meant saying goodbye. He looked up at Jim and Artie. "I don't know how to thank you. For everything."

Artie smiled at him. "Thank us by jumping in that crazy thing before it decides to run out of juice."

Napoleon laid Illya down on the bed for a moment and pulled out his wallet, fishing out his license. It would be a pain in the ass to replace, but it was the fastest way to give them his address. "I know it sounds crazy, but just in case." He handed the license to Jim. "Here's where I live." At Jim's look he let out a wry laugh. "Hey, you never know, crazier things have happened."

"I can't dispute that, can I?" Jim held the piece of plastic tightly. "1966?"

Napoleon furrowed his brow. "Yeah, why?"

Jim let out a rueful laugh. "I'd hate to arrive early for dinner and find you still in diapers."

Napoleon snorted and turned, intending to pick his partner back up. 

Artie had moved to the bed and was leaning down, speaking softly to Illya. Napoleon couldn't hear what he was saying, and didn't try to. Instead, he gave Artie a moment of privacy and held out his hand to Jim. "We won't forget you."

Jim gave him a wry smile and shook his hand. "Little chance of that."

Artie straightened and moved to Napoleon, giving him a hug and speaking softly to him. "I have a lot to thank you both for."

Napoleon returned the hug, and the sentiment. "As do we." He owed both these men for Illya. For his life, and for his love.

Artie flashed him a smile, his eyes a little sad. "Just do me a favor and take good care of him."

Napoleon bent down and picked Illya up again. "Count on it." He pointed to the control in Jim's hand. "You'll tuck that somewhere safe on him? I'd hate for it to fall out and for this door to stay open."

"I'll make sure it gets through safely."

Napoleon nodded. "Okay, then." He clenched Illya tighter to his chest and took a deep breath. Then with one last look at Jim and Artie, he leaped.

As opposed to the trip back in time, the trip home seemed instantaneous. Napoleon just suddenly found himself in the warehouse with none of the disorientation he'd experienced going the other way. Quickly he moved aside so as to not get knocked down by the other man.

He leaned against a wall, and slid down, holding Illya tightly. Once down, he said, "Hey, partner, you still with me?"

Illya let out a breath and actually turned his head to look at him, speaking weakly, "I feel like I can breathe again."

Napoleon smiled at him. "You still look like hell. Hold on and I'll get us some assistance." Cradling Illya in his arms, he dug for his communicator and within a few moments he'd arranged for an ambulance for Illya, and some agents from the local U.N.C.L.E. office to attend to their guest, who, as if he'd timed it that way on purpose, made his appearance at just that moment. Then the light folded up, and blinked out.

* * *

Jim and Artie watched as the light cube closed up after they'd unceremoniously tossed the prisoner through. It wasn't until it was gone that Jim realized it had been quite noisy, emitting a crackling static that, now gone, made the ensuing silence almost eerie. 

Jim lifted his eyes to his partner and saw the same look on Artie's face that he was sure was on his own. Total disbelief. "This did just happen, didn't it? We are awake?"

Artie let out a soft laugh. "Hell if I know, Jim. It sure feels real, but--"

Jim felt something in his hand and he remembered Napoleon's last minute gift. He lifted up the small piece of plastic for Artie's inspection. "I guess this proves it wasn't a dream."

Artie moved closer to Jim's side, peering at their proof. "Guess it will have to do." He yawned. "You up for riding back, or should we crash here for the night?"

Jim scowled, clearly not happy with either choice. "I don't much feel like staying here, but I don't think I can do that ride again. Three times in one night was more than enough. We can get some sleep and go home in the morning."

That suited Artie just fine. After preparing a bed with fresh linens, Artie lay on his side and held Jim close, his partner's back against his chest. Within seconds, they were both fast asleep.

* * *

As soon as they woke, they were on their way, Jim leading the horse Napoleon had ridden behind Duke. Artie found himself admiring the way Jim sat in the saddle, imagining that body under him, or over him, any way at all, in fact, as long as they were together. He reached down to adjust himself, his cock growing heavy with his thoughts.

He looked up to see Jim watching him, and Artie flashed him a sheepish smile. "See what you do to me?"

Jim's return smile was a mix of surprise and delight, and he slowed his horse until Artie was next to him. "How long, Artemus?"

Artie looked down at his groin and back up at Jim. "You mean how long have you had this effect on me?"

Jim nodded.

Artie thought about it. Not that it required any thought. He was mostly trying to decide how honest to be. Jim's ego was big enough without him contributing to it. But Artie decided that, as Jim was being courageous enough to take a chance on him, the least he could do was give him this bit of encouragement. "Since about five minutes after I met you."

Jim's eyes opened wide, and then he grinned, practically preening.

Artie rolled his eyes. "I knew I should have lied."

Jim leaned toward him and laid his hand on Artie's arm. "I'm glad you didn't."

Artie took a deep breath at the look in Jim's eyes. "Let's get home, James. We've got some unfinished business to attend to."

Jim nodded, his pupils darkened and filled with promise. He prompted his horse into a canter, Artie's horse close behind.

* * *

Napoleon closed his eyes for a moment, aware of how extraordinary their escape had been. A large part of him believed that this was all some dream and when he woke up either he'd find himself in his apartment and none of this would have happened, or he'd find himself still on the train, holding his dead partner in his arms. 

He pushed that thought away and looked down at Illya, gratified to see the chest rising and falling. His nose had stopped actively bleeding but the Russian still had blood all over his face, not to mention the rest of his body, and generally looked as if someone had opened fire on him. He clenched his teeth tightly to stop a sob from leaving his mouth, but he wasn't sure if it was one of joy or sadness. What he did know was if he started crying, he wasn't sure he'd be able to stop. 

They were home. They'd made it home. And Illya would be all right. He had to be. They couldn't have made it home against all odds for Illya to still up and die. Fate couldn't be that unkind. Napoleon heard the sirens and, not wanting to let go of his partner, he struggled to his feet making his way to the door so the ambulance would know where to go.

The agents arrived shortly after the ambulance, and promising a full report shortly, Napoleon hopped into the ambulance with his partner. He watched, exhausted, as the team started IVs, drew blood, put an oxygen mask on, hooked Illya up to monitors of various sorts, all beeping out a reassuring noise that told Napoleon that he was still alive. 

Every now and then, Illya's eyes would open, and Napoleon would speak softly to him, letting him know he was there, that he was on his way to the hospital, that he was going to be fine. The disorientation would fade, their eyes would meet, and then Illya would allow himself to drift away, knowing he was in good hands. Napoleon knew the feeling. The shoe was on the other foot often enough. 

He followed the stretcher into the ER, stuck close to Illya as several doctors consulted over his partner. When he informed them that he'd been clawed and bitten by a mountain lion, he wasn't surprised at the disbelieving looks he received. And the news that the yellowish powder in the wounds was sulfur and mustard didn't go over well either. 

Napoleon supposed he could have lied, but he didn't have the energy to come up with something remotely plausible, and they might need to know that information. The worst that would happen is they'd think he was a little nuts, but they'd still treat Illya. That was all that mattered.

Napoleon drew in a deep breath. It was amazing how much better he felt being back in his own time. A large part of it was due, he was sure, to simply being home, having that death sentence commuted. But his body could tell the difference. This was the time he belonged. Where Illya belonged. Where they belonged together. 

The transfusions had started as soon as they'd been able to crossmatch some blood. He'd read the labels of two of the IV solutions being run into his arm, and saw that they were giving him antibiotics. Everyone seemed very calm, no one was running around as if Illya were at death's door and Napoleon felt something inside him start to relax. 

They finally took Illya to the Operating Room with the plans to clean and debride his wounds and Napoleon used the time to call Waverly and try to fill him in on the preposterous tale of Thrush's latest undertaking. They never failed to amaze him with their audacity. Napoleon already knew what he'd read when he saw the report of the interrogation. Cheating time. Trying to change the future. Go back to the 1800s, establish a Thrush empire with cattle money, and create a future where Thrush owned the world. Napoleon supposed it might have worked if Time itself hadn't taken exception.

He found that rather comforting, knowing that some crazy fool couldn't just go back and change things to his or her liking. Napoleon promised Waverly a full written report as soon as he was able to get Illya back to New York. He was delighted to relinquish the case to his U.N.C.L.E. brethren. They could question the man they'd brought back, trace the plot up the chain of command until they found the ones responsible.

Napoleon was more than happy to wash his hands of the whole affair. All he wanted was to be with Illya, let it fully sink in that Illya was going to be all right, that they both were. He wanted to explore this new potential between them, see what it would feel like to touch the man he'd finally admitted he'd fallen irrevocably in love with. 

He forced himself to get something to eat, and then made his way back to the waiting room. A couple hours later, the surgeon came out and told him that his partner was doing fine, that he'd be in recovery for at least an hour, and that Illya was probably facing a few days of further debridements until all the affected tissue was cleared away. Then he tried to pry some information out of Napoleon, namely, why the hell someone had put whatever the hell that crap was in his scratches.

Napoleon told him they'd been on assignment, stuck in the middle of nowhere, with no transportation, and had ended up under the care of the local shaman. He figured it was as close to the truth as this man might possibly believe. As the doctor walked away, Napoleon could tell he wasn't satisfied.

Unexpectedly, a couple of U.N.C.L.E. agents showed up, telling him that Waverly was arranging for Illya to be airlifted back to New York. Apparently, now that the lost sheep had been found, he wanted them back with the flock. Napoleon could imagine how the surgeon was going to feel about not only not getting a satisfactory answer to his patient's condition, but then having said patient taken from him, without, Napoleon was sure, adequate explanation.

He looked up as Dr. Sadler came in. "Napoleon."

Napoleon smiled at him. Dr. Sadler was the best of the best of their docs. "Hey, Doc. Are you Illya's escort back to civilization?"

"That would be me. Napoleon, I've been looking at his chart. What the hell happened to him? None of these pieces fit together."

Napoleon knew that Sadler had top clearance. He had to, to know what he was treating half the time. Napoleon looked at his watch, saw that they still had 45 minutes until Illya would be out of recovery, and presumably, fit for travel. "Let me buy you a cup of coffee. It's a long story, spanning over a hundred years." He let out a laugh at the mystified look on Sadler's face, and gestured him out of the room.

* * *

Finally Illya was well enough to go home. It had been a rough few days. The debridements hurt, and because of it they'd been forcing pain meds on Illya, which made him cranky as all hell in the few moments where he wasn't sleeping, or too drugged to carry on intelligible conversation. 

But, he had been given clearance to leave. The effects of the time travel had resolved, his infection overcome, and it was time to get him out of here. Waverly, in an uncharacteristically kind gesture had given Napoleon the next few days off to watch over Illya as he convalesced at home. Napoleon guessed his decision was based more on the fact that Waverly didn't trust Illya not to try and do too much too soon and therefore be unavailable longer, rather than acknowledging that Napoleon's place was at his partner's side.

In either case, Napoleon was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He headed down to Medical and stopped outside Illya's room. Illya was half way dressed. He had his slacks on, but was still bare-chested. He was looking down at himself with a chagrined look on his face. The scars on his chest and shoulder were still livid. They would fade over time, but they would never go away. The medical care of the 1870's had seen to that. Not that Napoleon faulted Artie. If he hadn't done what he'd done, he doubted Illya would have stayed alive long enough to make it back home.

Somehow Illya knew Napoleon was there, because he lifted his head and gave Napoleon a wry smile. "Not a very pretty picture, is it?" He looked back down at his chest. "If I had any suitors, I imagine this would scare them away."

Napoleon cocked his head to the side and processed Illya's statement and his tone of voice. Startled, he realized that Illya was actually worried that the scars might be all it took to make Napoleon change his mind. It annoyed him for a moment that Illya would think him so fickle, but then he realized that that was all Illya had ever seen him be. Fickle. Uncommitted. 

He entered the room, closed the door behind him, and walked over to his partner. Napoleon put his fingers under Illya's chin and forced him to look up at him. "First of all, you do have a suitor. Me. Second of all, I plan to stay your suitor, from now until death really does take us." Napoleon watched Illya's eyes grow bright with love. He had to resist the urge to lean down and kiss him senseless. 

With a sense of shock, Napoleon suddenly realized that they hadn't ever kissed. Ever. He knew these rooms weren't monitored, even U.N.C.L.E. allowed its agents some privacy when they were ill. Napoleon moved away from the bed and fit a chair under the doorknob. He glanced up and saw Illya staring at him, eyes wide, pupils going black with desire.

Napoleon grinned and walked back over to him. He pulled Illya up, and wrapped his arms around him. For a moment, the feel of Illya's hard body disconcerted him. He was holding a man, he was planning on kissing a man, making love to a man. Napoleon pushed those thoughts away, and captured Illya's lips with his. After the first moment's awkwardness faded away, it seemed as if he'd been kissing Illya forever, indeed, it felt as if it was the most real and natural thing he'd ever done.

He forced himself to cut it off; he had to stop things before he lost all control and ended up tumbling Illya back down to the bed, and furthering his own bisexual education at a pell-mell pace. Napoleon pulled back, smiling at what he saw before him. Illya, face flushed, lips swollen, eyes slightly glazed over, tongue darting out to wet his lips. Napoleon had never seen a more alluring sight. It almost made him kiss him again. Almost.

It wasn't that he didn't want to. God knows he did. But, he wanted to do it at home, in private, where they'd have days to get to know each other, explore each other slowly, and not have to worry about someone trying to get in the room and explain how a chair accidentally got lodged under the doorknob. He finished his list. "And third, I love those scars. And I plan to take you home now and kiss every one of them. All right with you?"

Illya just nodded.

It made Napoleon grin. Illya was often silent, but he didn't think he could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times the Russian had been rendered speechless. He pressed Illya down until he was seated on the bed again, and then went and removed the chair. Then he picked up Illya's t-shirt, assisted him into it, and then helped him slip into his loafers.

Just then, one of the nurses walked in with a box of discharge supplies. Napoleon and Illya's eyes met for a second, a mental communion passing between them about timing, and then Napoleon flashed a charming smile at the nurse, listening attentively as she went over his instructions.

When she was done, he lifted the box and turned to Illya. "I'll go get the car and meet you out front."

  
Illya nodded again. Napoleon watched as Illya's hand lifted and he traced his bottom lip with his fingers, as if he still couldn't believe Napoleon had kissed him, or maybe couldn't wait for the opportunity to do it again. Or maybe he could still feel their kiss, the way Napoleon could. Napoleon felt his own tongue dart out to lick his lips. Their eyes met again, and Napoleon could see the matching desire in Illya's blue eyes. He needed to get the car now. Napoleon sent a warning glance his partner's way. "Don't dawdle." With another grin, he left the room.

* * *

Missing Cattle: Epilogue

1967

Napoleon lay in bed, enjoying the fact that they actually had a free weekend, loving the feel of Illya's body curled against him. Loving Illya had been the best thing he'd ever done with his life. Illya completed him, fulfilled him, challenged him, and totally accepted him. Napoleon had no idea how he'd lived so long without a love like this.

And the sex blew his mind. A year later and it still felt new. All Illya had to do was look at him a certain way and it was all Napoleon could do to not slam him against the wall and kiss him into next week. It seemed a miracle that they hadn't been found out, that the lust and love in his eyes hadn't revealed his feelings to everyone who looked at him.

Waverly knew. And the head doctor from the medical section knew. But, as far as Napoleon could tell, no one else did. And neither Waverly nor the doctor had any idea of what Illya was really like. Knew what it was like to be loved by Illya in every way there was to be loved. It was Napoleon's secret and he kept it closely guarded, his most prized possession.

He smiled down at his sleeping partner and softly rubbed his cheek where it had been reddened by Napoleon's stubble. He shaved every night to try to keep it from happening as Illya's skin was so fair, but he could hardly be held accountable when Illya woke him up in the middle of the night working his tongue down Napoleon's body.

Napoleon let out a soft hmm of satisfaction. His partner was insatiable, which suited him just fine, because he was insatiable too. A perfect match.

There was a knock on the door, and Napoleon frowned. He ignored it, hoping it would go away. But the knock grew more insistent. Letting out a sigh, he pulled away from Illya's body, kissed him softly on the cheek when he let out a moan of discontent. "I'll be right back, someone's at the door."

Illya grumbled, but then rolled over, giving Napoleon a tempting view of his muscled ass. Napoleon's cock twitched in anticipation. The knocking continued and Napoleon reached for his robe and his gun. "I'm coming, I'm coming."

He looked through the peephole and saw a delivery man. Keeping the chain on, he opened the door an inch, his gun pressed against his chest. "ID, please."

An ID and an envelope were pushed through the crack of the door.

Napoleon glanced at the ID, then at the envelope. Western Union. He shut the door and, after removing the chain and slipping his gun into his robe pocket, reopened it. Napoleon signed for the delivery, opened the outside envelope and pulled out the contents. It was another envelope and it looked really old.

He glanced up at the delivery man, surprised to see he was still there. "Ah. Hold on a moment." He walked into the bedroom, found his pants, located his wallet and pulled out a dollar. Walking back to the door, he handed it to the man. The young man didn't move. "Was there something else?"

The man looked sheepish for a moment. "Well, it's just that that message has been in the office for, well, as long as anyone can remember, and we were all, well, we were all sort of wondering what it was."

Napoleon stared at him for a moment. Then he gave him his best polite smile. "I'm sorry to disappoint you, but I'm afraid it's private." With that, he firmly shut the door and locked it.

He looked down at the envelope, ran his fingers over the cursive script. He felt his heart start to race and headed back to the bedroom. "Illya, wake up."

Illya was up immediately, out of bed, looking for danger, reaching for his gun.

Napoleon waved him off the hunt. "Get back in bed."

Illya scowled at him. "If you want me back in bed, why did you tell me to wake up?"

Napoleon slapped him on the ass and waited until he was back in bed before shrugging out of his robe and climbing in after him. He handed the envelope to Illya. "Western Union just delivered this."

Illya did the same thing he had, touched the writing, both their names written in the finest calligraphy. His eyes were wide as he looked up at his partner. "Is it from them?"

"Only one way to find out. Open it." Napoleon trusted Illya's capable fingers to the job more than his own. He watched in anticipation as Illya slowly worked the flap open. 

Illya pulled out a sheet of paper and held it up so Napoleon could see two signatures at the bottom- Artemus Gordon and James West.

Napoleon felt a lump in his throat and swallowed hard. He looked down and saw that Illya's eyes were suspiciously bright and felt better. "Read it."

Illya leaned against him and read:

_December 23rd, 1895_

_Dear Napoleon and Illya,_

_We both hope this letter makes its way to you. It feels quite preposterous to be a penning a note to someone who isn't even alive yet. And yet you are alive in our hearts._

_Jim and I are still together and still very much in love. Our hope is that you have discovered your own path of true love as well. We have retired from the Service. I was shot and must admit that it was touch and go as to whether I would survive, and Jim decided it was enough. We'd been shot, imprisoned, tortured, and beaten enough for the good of the government, and it was time to stop._

_I have fully recovered, and we are now living in California. We bought some beautiful property and Jim has decided to try his hand at winemaking. I started a small theatre and enjoy putting on productions to please the local community. We have put down roots at last and have made some fine friends._

_We still speak of you, not to anyone else of course, as they would think us mad, and even though we only knew you both for a short time, you changed our lives so much for the better that we shall be eternally grateful._

_Our thoughts will continue to be with you, and know that we wish you a life filled with love and happiness._

_Your servants,_

_Artemus Gordon and James West_

Illya's voice was shaking by the time he got to the end of the letter. He buried his face in Napoleon's chest, and the two of them just held each other for the longest time. Finally, Napoleon got up and went to the refrigerator, pulling out a bottle of champagne. He grabbed two glasses and carried the lot into the bedroom.

He undid the foil wrapper and popped the cork, letting Illya hold the glasses as he filled them. Then, putting the bottle down on the bedside table, he got back into bed. He lifted his glass high. "I'd like to propose a toast."

Illya watched him, waiting and willing, his blue eyes bright.

"To two of the most extraordinary men I've ever met. Wherever they are, I hope the two of them are together."

Illya clinked his glass against Napoleon's and took a healthy swallow. "I have no doubt that they are, Napoleon."

Napoleon looked at Illya over the edge of his glass and felt so undeservedly lucky. He took Illya's glass away and placed it next to his own, by the bottle. He picked up the letter and, folding it carefully, put it back in its envelope and laid it on the bureau. Then, for the third time that morning, he crawled back into bed with his lover, pulled him close, and never let him go.

The End


End file.
